Log Rhythms: Season Two
by DNash
Summary: UPDATED - 31 Dec 04 Log 2:27 now up-rated R for language and violence. A continuation of Log Rhythms. This is the FINAL INSTALLMENT of S2.
1. Default Chapter

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer** - The majority of the characters hererin belong to Paramount Pictures/UPN/Viacom and anyone else who has a stake in _Enterprise_ or any other permutation of the _Star Trek_ universe. Additionally, any dialogue borrowed from actual _Enterprise_ episodes has been added merely for verisimilitude. This is written just in fun and because I really enjoy the show(s). No copyright infringement is intended. 

**Violence** - Not particularly.

**Ratings** - Generally, expect a PG to PG-13 rating for language and what people so quaintly call "adult content." Specific ratings will be provided at the top of each log entry so you can decide for yourself whether or not you should be reading them.  
The **language** here only occasionally goes beyond what you can hear on prime time TV.  
The "**adult content**" primarily centers around two men—although Cormack managed to get some nookie last season, as did Cutler and Mayweather—so if you have a problem with any of that, stop reading and seek therapy, or at least a lemon bar and a cuppa java, because it's sad, sad.

**Thank yous** - Many, many thanks to my fabulous beta readers, FiTanna, Jay, and JennyB, and also to my editrix extraordinaire, Idris. I couldn't do it without you all! Well, I suppose I could, but the product would undoubtedly suffer—and it wouldn't be nearly as much fun! :-)

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. You can email them to: dnash_nx01@yahoo.com  
If you want to flame me, please don't waste your time or mine. Remember, it was your choice to read on. ;-)

*****

**Log 2:1**: (Takes place immediately following _Shockwave II_.)  
_Rating: [PG-13]_

*****

Reed walked tiredly down the corridor. He'd just come from the Armory where he'd intended to give the systems a once-over before turning in for the night. He'd been out of commission during the Suliban attack and wanted to be sure his weapons weren't too badly damaged; he already knew the hull plating had taken some serious hits. It would make for an easier morning if he knew what he was in for in the way of repairs.

Of course Malcolm hadn't actually gotten his hands on any of the systems before being all but ordered out the Armory by Ensign Cormack. He chuckled at the recent memory. 

_"With all due respect, Lieutenant," Cormack had begun. He'd laughed inside, guessing what was coming. "You look like hell. Young and I have everything under control here. Go to bed. Get some sleep. You've earned it."_

"I think I can handle a brief inspection tour of my own department," he'd argued half-heartedly. There'd been a familiar glint in his friend's eye, however, and he'd decided this was a battle he didn't need to fight.

"I'll have a status report sent to you before the night's out," insisted Stephanie. She'd been afraid he was going to protest again and was pleasantly surprised when her C.O. acquiesced.

"All right. I'll see you in the morning," he'd said.

That was only minutes ago. Now he was at his cabin door. He opened it and squinted a little in the unexpectedly bright light, his swollen eye protesting.

"Sorry," said Trip, immediately dimming the light to what he hoped would be a tolerable level for his injured partner. "I hope you don't mind. I let myself in."

"Of course I don't mind," answered Malcolm, stepping farther into the room and allowing the door to shut behind him.

"I brought you some dinner. Figured you wouldn't really be up to the mess hall, but you need to eat something, so I thought I'd just bring it herefor you." Trip trailed off when he realized he was babbling. He gave Malcolm a somewhat sheepish shrug.

Reed smiled as much as his split lip would allow. Phlox had doctored him up well, but he couldn't heal everything instantly. The Denobulan physician probably could have done more had he let him, but the armory officer had been anxious to get back to his job.

Now, of course, he was regretting the decision; he was exhausted and he ached from head to toe. "That was very thoughtful of you, but I'm really not hungry," he said. Tucker's resultant crest-fallen look tugged at his conscience. "Sorry."

Disappointment wasn't going to stop the engineer. "Doesn't matter if you're not hungry," he said. "I know you haven't eaten much the past couple of days. Your body needs food if it's going to heal. Takes energy, you know."

"Yes, I think I do." Malcolm and Trip exchanged knowing looks. In less than a year on _Enterprise_ they'd both had more than their fair share of injuries and illnesses—and one very unexpected pregnancy. 

Malcolm chuckled a little at the memory.

"What's so funny?" Tucker asked.

"Just remembering something."

"Remembering what?"

"I think maybe I _will_ have something to eat after all," said Reed, deliberately avoiding the question. "What did you bring me?"

"Curried lentil soup. Figured you wouldn't want anything too tough to chew on. What were you remembering?"

Malcolm sat at the desk and removed the cover from the tray of food. He inhaled the steam coming off the hot soup. "Smells wonderful."

"Malcolm, why aren't you answering my question?" Trip wanted to know. He sat on the end of the bunk—the closest point to his lover without actually sitting on the table itself or the floor.

"This soup is excellent. Did you try it?"

"Malcolm"

Reed took another bite before replying. "I was thinking about Ah'Len, actually."

"Ah'Len?" Trip was taken aback. It was months since they'd crossed paths with the Xyrillian engineer and while Tucker certainly hadn't forgotten her, she wasn't exactly foremost in his thoughts, either. "What made you think of her?"

"Something you said just now. It made me think of when I learned you werepregnant." Even after the better part of a year, he found it hard to say out loud. His lover, his _male_ lover, had been accidentally impregnated by an alien woman. He didn't know whether he found it funny or disturbing. He decided it was both. "I was quite surprised."

"_You_ were surprised?" countered Trip. "You weren't the one who was knocked up!" Both men chuckled.

Reed continued to eat in the quiet that followed. Tucker laid back on the bunk, too tired to hold himself upright any longer. It had been a stressful, exhausting few days. It felt good to be here with Malcolm where he could simply relax. Here, he was just Trip. He wasn't the Commander; he wasn't the Chief Engineer. There would be plenty of time to be those people tomorrow morning when they began the serious repair work on the ship. He wasn't looking forward to the morning.

He let himself get wrapped up in his memories. Time allowed him too look more objectively on those few strange days he'd spent with the Xyrillians. 

He and Malcolm hadn't been together when he'd had his encounter with Ah'Len. It hadn't ever occurred to him to ask what the armory officer thought of the incident. Now he wondered. It felt almost surreal to be thinking back to that time. After what had transpired over the past forty-eight hours—_Yeah. The past forty-eight hours and the future 900 years,_ the engineer thought.—what had happened with Ah'Len seemed like a lifetime ago.

_It was a lifetime ago,_ thought Tucker. _In more ways than one._

"What did you think?" he said aloud. He sat up enough to lean on his elbows and look over at Malcolm.

"What?" Reed was completely unaware of the track his partner's mind had been following and was caught unprepared by the question.

"When you heard I was pregnant," Trip clarified, "what did you think?"

"As I recall, my first reaction was blank astonishment." He gave the blond a small, wry smile that was returned easily. "After the initial shock faded, I was rather disappointed to think you preferred women to men—and alien women, no less. Glad to discover I was wrong on that, by the way."

Trip chuckled. "Me, too."

"Aside from that," Malcolm continued, "I have to admit I found it a bit amusing. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. If it hadn't happened to me, I'd probably have found it hilarious. I know the Captain thought it was."

"He didn't— What did he do?"

"Mostly tried not to laugh at me, I think. Once he'd figured out I really had kept my dick in my pants and wasn't sticking it where it didn't belong, that is." He laid back down heavily.

The unexpected statement was so unlike his partner that it made Malcolm laugh, then flinch abruptly as the muscles of his injured face were stretched painfully. He was glad Tucker wasn't in a position to see his discomfort. "He really thought you were" He hesitated, stifling another laugh. "'sticking it where it didn't belong'?"

"Only for a minute. I mean, he knows I'm not that stupid. I'd never jeopardize my career like that! And now" Tucker sat up completely, looked at Malcolm intently. "Well now I've got an even better reason not to go sowing my oats with aliens."

Malcolm smiled tentatively, not wanting to cause himself any more pain but wanting to express the warm feeling that filled him at Trip's words. "I'm glad you feel that way."

"Of course I do! Don't you ever doubt it! That's an order," he added, punctuating it with a stab of his finger in the air.

"Yes, sir!" Reed quipped, laughing. He winced again at the sharp jolt of pain his mirth caused.

This time, Tucker noticed. He expression was suddenly concerned. "You okay?" He had forgotten that no matter how tired he was, Malcolm must surely be feeling far worse.

"Yeah," Malcolm assured him. "At least I will be."

Trip rose and crossed the short distance to his lover. He knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his bruised cheek. Cautious fingers barely brushed the discoloration around Malcolm's right eye. He wished there was something he could do to make it better. "I hated to send you out to the Suliban," he said quietly.

"Someone had to go. I was the only one with the code to unlock the door to Daniels' quarters."

"You could've given someone else the code."

"Whom?" the dark-haired tactical officer asked logically. "T'Pol? Travis? Hoshi? I don't think so."

"I was thinking me, actually."

"Not bloody likely!"

Tucker started at the surprisingly vehement denial. "But—"

"No buts, Trip. It had to be me. I knew what I was getting myself into when I took the commission as _Enterprise_'s Armory Officer. I knew as well as anyone _could_ know," he amended, seeing the engineer about to protest. "And if you think I was going to send you off to be tortured by the Suliban, you've got another think coming."

"Tortured?" Trip's eyes widened in horror and shock. "You never said—"

_Damn,_ thought Malcolm. _Definitely the wrong choice of words._ He tried to dismiss it. "You know what I mean. We didn't know what they'd do to whomever they caught. I couldn't send someone else to face that when it was my responsibility."

"It wasn't just _your_ responsibility." Tucker rose, looking down at the still-seated lieutenant. "What if something had happened—something even worse than what they did?"

"Trip, I'm fine." He tried to sound reassuring, but his partner was having none of it.

"Did they torture you? What did they do to you?!" It was a demand and a plea wrapped together. Fear, anger, and pain were warring in the blond man. He could barely keep still. He felt as if he wanted to chase after the Suliban who had hurt his lover and rip them limb from limb.

"Nothing!" said Malcolm firmly. "Nothing beyond what you can see for yourself." He stood, placed strong hands on Trip's shoulders, willing him to calm down. "Look at me."

Held tightly and close, the engineer looked into Malcolm's eyes. He saw pain there, but he also saw strength and courage and truth. Trip relaxed a little, his shoulders slumping with the release of tension. "I was worried about you."

"I know," said Malcolm softly. "And I won't tell you not to worry. You wouldn't listen anyway," he added lightly to take the sting out of the words. "I have a dangerous job. So do you. I worry about you, too. A lot."

"You do?"

"Of course I do!" he exclaimed, unintentionally echoing his partner's earlier words. "Any time we're in unknown territory. Any time we meet a potentially hostile alien. Any time you're not where I can protect you."

"I don't always need protecting, Malcolm." There was just the slightest edge of reproof in the younger man's voice.

"I know. But asking me not to want to protect you is like me asking you not to worry about me. Fair's fair, sweetheart. You'd better be prepared to accept it."

Tucker considered his words. "I suppose you're right," he admitted at last. Again he looked deep into is partner's eyes. "I love you, Malcolm Reed."

"I love you, too, Charles Tucker the Third. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to say it out loud."

Those words spoken aloud filled Trip's heart, but he couldn't bear to hurt Malcolm's feelings by showing him how badly he'd wanted to hear him say it. He gave what he hoped was an off-hand shrug. "I knew you did."

Malcolm wasn't fooled for a moment. He placed a hand around the back of Trip's neck, tenderly running his fingers through soft blond hair. "But you deserve to hear it. I promise from now on, you will."

Anything Trip could think of to say felt inadequate in comparison, so he changed the subject. "Your soup's getting cold."

"Thanks." Reed sat. Before he could continue his meal, however, he noticed a light flashing on his computer. A quick tap of keys told him what he wanted to know.

"What's that?" asked Tucker. He was sitting on the bunk again, content simply to be in Malcolm's company.

"Status report on the weapons. It can wait until morning."

"Good choice. Now finish your dinner so you can come to bed."

"Yes, sir," answered Reed with a smile.

While Malcolm ate, Trip laid back once again and stared blankly at the few items on the shelf above the bunk. His mind was on other things. Several minutes passed in which neither man spoke, each enjoying the comfortable silence of companionship.

Finally, Tucker could keep his thoughts to himself no longer. "Do you think they'll still make us go home?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," answered Reed, equally subdued. "After the speeches Captain Archer and T'Pol made, well Maybe not."

"After _their_ speeches, yeah. _I_ should've kept my mouth shut."

Malcolm agreed, but thought better than to say so outright. "Nothing you said to Soval is going to affect the outcome. Starfleet will make its decision with or without your help, I'm sure. Besides," he added almost conspiratorially, "everything you said was absolutely right."

Trip snorted derisively. "Still shouldn't've said it."

"No." There was silence while Trip brooded and Malcolm tried to think of a way to make him feel better. "You could always apologize."

"I suppose so," said Trip with a grimace. "Too bad I'm not actually sorry. I already apologized to the captain, though, for acting so out of line." He genuinely regretted his actions on that level. _Actions, sure. Words, nope._

"There's nothing to be done about it tonight," Malcolm said. "Get some sleep. We're sure to hear something one way or the other by morning."

"That's a cheerful way to put it." Tucker rolled onto his side an leaned on his elbow. "You done eating?"

"Yeah. Let's get ready for bed. I'm exhausted."

"Good."

"Huh?"

"So am I. And I'm really looking forward to climbing into this bunk and just holding onto you for a while," replied Trip tenderly.

"That sounds perfect."

*****

Trip woke early to the sound of the chirping alarm. "Computer, alarm off," he whispered harshly. He glanced at his partner, who was still asleep beside him. Malcolm's face was relaxed and sweet in slumber. He hated to awaken him to the aches and pains of the day. Carefully, he slipped out of the bunk and tucked the blanket back around the sleeping form. Malcolm shifted but didn't wake.

_He's gonna be royally pissed at me for this,_ thought Trip. _But I'm willing to take that chance._

He straightened out his pajama bottoms so they were sitting properly on his hips. Then he picked up the bright blue undershirt he'd worn the day before and pulled it on. He didn't mind talking to the Captain half-dressed, but half-dressed and calling from his lover's cabin was another matter. Trip ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. It made him feel better if he knew he looked presentable; it didn't matter that the comm was audio only.

He opened a channel and quietly hailed Archer.

"Morning, Trip!" came the too chipper reply.

Tucker winced at the volume and instinctively made a shushing gesture at the comm. He felt stupid when he realized the absurdity of his actions. He glanced quickly over at the bunk to make sure Malcolm hadn't seen or heard anything. _Good. Still asleep._

Keeping his voice low, he said, "Mornin', sir. I've got a little favor to ask."

"Oh?" Archer had caught on to his old friend's quiet tones and immediately adopted them. "What is it?"

"Malcolm's pretty wiped out, sir. I know the doc okayed him for duty, but"

"What does Malcolm say?"

Trip's chagrined look was wasted with no audience. "He's still asleep."

"Ah." The captain's knowing tone was clear even through the hushed comm connection.

"I know. He'll tell me off something fierce later, but I don't care. He needs to rest—otherwise he'd've woken up when the alarm went off."

"You know you're going to get me in trouble, too," joked Archer.

"Yeah, but you'll never hear it from him."

The captain didn't entirely agree, but he let it go. "If you're willing to risk getting the lieutenant mad at you, there must be a good reason. Let him sleep, Trip. I'll make a note in the duty roster so his team doesn't wonder where he is."

"Thanks, Captain." Trip closed the comm and gave another glance toward the bed. _He must be exhausted!_ he thought. Normally Reed woke easily with his alarm; today a whole conversation had transpired and still he slept on. 

Moving as quietly as he could, Trip made a few small adjustments to the room. Then he leaned over his sleeping partner and dared a feather-light kiss on his rough cheek. Malcolm never moved.

"See you later, lover," he whispered. Silently, he slipped out of the cabin.

*****

Malcolm awoke confused. He rolled over, expecting to find Trip's warm presence in the bunk beside him, but he was alone. He glanced at the bedside chronometer only to find it had been turned to face away from the bed. _What ?_ his still-sleepy mind wondered. The dishes from the night before had been cleared away as well, he saw as he looked around the room. The "message waiting" light was blinking on his computer. He sat up, carefully rubbing sleep out of tired eyes. He was pleased to feel the bruise that surrounded his right eye was less sensitive than it had been the previous night.

"Computer, play message."

"Malcolm, before you say anything just listen," said the image of Trip that appeared on the monitor. Reed barely had time to wonder what was going on before the recording continued. "I don't know what time you'll get this. It'll depend what time you wake up I suppose. Just know that everything's okay."

"What?" Malcolm asked the screen pointlessly.

"Captain Archer okayed you for light duties today whenever you wake up."

Realization was beginning to dawn on the lieutenant. "You didn't—?" He grabbed the chronometer. Bright green letters glared at him: 0952. "You did!"

The recording was still running, oblivious to this small outburst but anticipating its tone. "I know you're probably mad, butwelltough. The Armory's where you left it. I checked. It should still be there whenever you're ready. You can chew me out over dinner tonight at 2030 hours. I love you.  Oh! And we're not going home! I'll tell you all about it tonight."

The message ended and Reed was left staring at the blank screen. "You little shit," he said, but his tone was warmed by affection. Trip had done what he felt he had to do. It was sweet. It was thoughtful. And Malcolm was going give him what for when he saw him that evening.

There was nothing for it now but to get on with his day. Deciding a shower was in order no matter how late it was, he put on his robe, picked up a towel, and headed to the shower room.

*****

Lieutenant Reed entered the Armory with a datapad in one hand and a large mug of hot, strong tea in the other. Organized chaos greeted his entrance. People were moving quickly and efficiently to repair every system that was damaged in the Suliban attack. Reed spotted Cormack at the main console and descended the stairs to the lower level.

Cormack turned at the sound of his boots ringing on the metallic staircase. "Morning, Lieutenant," she said as he approached.

"Only just," he muttered to himself. "Good morning, Ensign."

"How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." He held up the datapad. "I have the report you sent last night," he continued, ending the discussion of his current well-being. "What can you give me in the way of an update?"

"We have a team working with an engineering team to repair the aft phase-cannon. It took a serious hit just before the Suliban broke off their attack. I've got Martinez and Griffith working on the port side fore phase cannon. The cannon port stabilizers are all out of whack."

"What a very high tech description," said Reed wryly.

"Yes, sir," answered the ensign with a smile. "They should have it taken care of before the end of the day."

"What else?"

"Not a lot. Really it's Engineering who have most of the work. That faked reactor breach caused a lot more damage than anything our systems took."

"At least we didn't add to it."

"Yes, sir!" agreed Cormack emphatically.

The late hours they'd put in trying to stabilize the phase cannons' beam emitters so the weapons could be fired at warp speed had certainly paid off. 

"Not how I would have chosen to field test them," added the lieutenant, "but needs must as the devil drives, as the old saying goes. I'm very glad it worked."

"Me, too."

"All right. Show me what you were working on when I came in."

*****

"Commander, I have an update on the hull plating." Lawless handed over a datapad, which Trip reluctantly took.

"Tell me it's good news, Ensign," he said.

"Sorry, sir."

Tucker let out a despondent sigh. "All right. Thanks."

Lawless made a judicious exit. It had been a long day of repairs and they weren't even close to finished. It was going to take weeks to fix all the damaged systems and equipment. Frankly, she doubted they could do it on their own. That was the problem with being the first Earth ship to travel this far—there were no established bases where they could put in for repairs.

The Chief Engineer studied the report wearily. He would have agreed with the ensign had he known her thoughts. The ship was a mess. Between the faked breach and the Suliban attack, nearly every system was in need of some sort of repair, whether it be major like the hull plating or minor like the long-range sensors. He briefly considered calling Malcolm and postponing dinner but decided against it.

_It'd just look like you were trying to delay the inevitable,_ he told himself. _And it'd be partly true._ While he was looking forward to seeing his partner that evening, he wasn't looking forward to the dressing down he was bound to get. _Oh well. All in a good cause._

He returned his attention to the datapad. "Damn."

*****

Reed was waiting when Tucker arrived. He sat at a small table, sipping a mug of tea.

"Hey," said Trip.

"Hey, yourself. Hungry?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

They collected their dinners in silence. Trip had decided before coming that he was going to let his lover take the lead in the conversation. He was hoping it would be a brief one. For his part, Malcolm had no intention of making it easy for Trip. He maintained a pleasant, neutral expression as he chose a plate of ravioli with pesto and small salad. Tucker opted for steak and roasted vegetables; if he was going down, he was going down well fed.

They sat. Malcolm took a bite of salad, surreptitiously watching the fair-haired engineer. He looked tired and tense. There wasn't much he could do about the former, but the latter he could alleviate. First, however

"Did you sleep well?" asked Reed innocently.

_Crap. Here it comes,_ thought Trip. "Yeah, thanks. You?" 

"Very well. A bit too well, even."

"Uh Okay." Tucker could feel the hammer suspended over him, waited for it to fall.

"I had this odd dream," continued Malcolm.

"Really?"

"Yes. I dreamed I overslept. I wonder what that might mean."

"Maybe you should ask Dr. Douglas," Trip said, trying desperately to delay the inevitable. "He knows a lot about dream interpretation."

"I'm sure he does." There was an uncomfortable pause, which Malcolm finally broke. "You should have woken me."

"I know."

"I've never overslept a duty shift before."

"Then I'd say I did the right thing!"

"Excuse me? Just how do you figure that?"

"Obviously you needed the rest, or you'd have woken up when I did. It's not like the alarm didn't go off," he added defensively.

"I expect you shut it off instantly."

"Of course. Ididn't want it to wake you," said Trip sheepishly. _There goes that argument._

Malcolm regarded him sternly, lips pressed into a thin line. It was an expression he'd unconsciously learned from his father many years ago; he wouldn't have wanted to know he was using it now. "Trip, I don't expect you to take responsibility for me. I don't expect you to make sure I get up on time every day. I have managed on my own up to now, after all. Equally, I expect you to respect my right to make my own decisions. The alarm would have eventually woken me if you'd let it. I might have contacted the captain myself, if I'd felt I needed more time to recuperate."

"Doubt it," muttered Trip.

Malcolm ignored the comment. "The point is it was my decision to make, not yours."

"You needed the sleep, Malcolm. I know you did."

"That's not the issue."

"I know. I'm just arguing because I know I did something I shouldn't have and I'm trying to justify it to myself." Trip gave an abashed shrug. "Don't you ever do that?"

"I try to avoid situations where I need to do that," replied Malcolm pointedly.

"Yeah, well" The engineer looked at the dark-haired man across the table, saw the barely perceptible smile and the hint of a twinkle in his blue eyes. He playfully gave him his best hopeful puppy-dog look. "Forgive me?"

"Someday that expression isn't going to work, and then you'll be in real trouble," joked Malcolm.

Trip grinned. Clearly all was forgiven. "Never happen."

"You don't think?"

"Nope. Not as long as you love me."

Malcolm returned his lover's grin with a rare one of his own. "You're right, then. It'll never happen. Now, tell me what you heard about _Enterprise_ _not_ getting sent home."

*****

End Log 2:1  
_(Completed 23 Sept 02)_

Continued in Log 2:2


	2. Log 2:2

**Log Rhythms: Season Two  
**By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:2**: (Takes place between Log 2:1 and the episode _Carbon Creek_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

"Excuse me, Ensigns. Could I have a moment?"

Lawless and Cutler looked up from their breakfasts in surprise. There stood Lieutenant Reed, mug of tea in hand and a pleasant, inquisitive look on his face.

"Of course," said Cutler, the first to find her voice. "Please." She gestured to a chair, and he sat.

"Thank you." He turned his gaze to Lawless who unconsciously sat a little straighter. Reed noticed and gave her a ghost of a smile. "At ease, Ensign. I just have a small request."

"Request, sir?" asked the puzzled engineer. She was stymied. Any engineering request he had could be made on duty, and she'd have expected him to go Commander Tucker for technical assistance anyway. This surreptitious meeting over breakfast had her at a loss.

"I understand you're a veryresourceful individual," continued Reed.

"Resourceful?" Lawless was desperately wishing she'd gotten a double espresso this morning instead of ordinary coffee; her brain was in serious need of a jumpstart. One look at Cutler's blank expression told her she was on her own. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Lieutenant."

"Stephanie told me all about the role-playing game." 

He meant, of course, the prank they'd played on Cormack the past November. Lawless had started it all by getting her hands on documentary footage of her friend's old college band days. Apparently it was now coming back to haunt her. She shot another nervous glance across the table to Cutler. Liz looked back, equally apprehensive. It had been several months, but now it appeared Cormack was going to get her revenge.

_But what does the lieutenant have to do with it?_ wondered Lawless.

Reed was aware of the ensigns' nervous tension, but had no idea of its real cause. He simply needed a favor, a discreet favor, and he'd learned that Lawless was the person to talk to. "You have a reputation for being able to acquire information and objects not necessarily of standard Starfleet issue," he said suggestively.

_How in hell did he find out about that?!_ Mae's mind shouted at her. _I'm in so much trouble._ She tried to maintain an air of nonchalance. Unfortunately, not having started with that air, it was impossible to maintain it. "Sir?" she asked in failed false-innocence.

Reed chuckled softly, surprising the two women even more. "Relax." He looked over to Cutler. "Both of you. I just want to ask a favor." Now he turned his attention back to Lawless. "I need to know if you can get something for me. If you'll stop by the armory later, I'll give you the details."

Still completely baffled, all Lawless could do was nod.

*****

Tucker and Reed were taking the evening off. Both were satisfied with the progress of repairs in their respective departments, so when their duty shifts ended, they'd actually gone off duty. The whole evening was ahead of them, and they intended to spend it together. 

Now Malcolm and Trip entered the ship's gym. Only crewmen Martinez and Zabel were there, sparring on the large mat laid out in the center of the room. They paid the newcomers no notice, and the officers skirted the mat to get to the weights.

"You go first. I'll spot you," said Malcolm. 

"Okay," the commander agreed. 

They set their towels aside, and Trip released a long weight bar from its holder. He set the bar for the weight he wanted and laid back on the bench. Reed positioned himself at the top of the bench, ready on the off-chance his assistance should be needed.

The two chatted quietly as they lifted, although it was the person spotting who did most of the talking.

They'd been working out for some time when Malcolm, taking a turn on the bench, asked about the repairs. He'd been trying to avoid discussing work, but as that was all anyone had been doing lately, there were precious few other topics to hand.

"They're about done," Trip answered. "It looked a lot uglier than it was."

"That's not what yousaid last week," Reed said between bench presses.

"That was last week. Now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, it doesn't seem so bad anymore."

Malcolm set the weight bar in its rests and sat up. He reset the bar to neutral before the two of them moved over to the hand weights. It would be much easier to talk now.

About that time, Martinez and Zabel finished up their sparring. Together they hung the large mat back on the wall where it was stored when not in use. Reed gave them a friendly nod, which both returned as they left. "Those two should try for the officers' exams next time around," he said.

"Yeah?" Tucker was selecting a pair of weights and glanced up only to see the door shut behind the departing security crewmen.

"Yeah. I expect they'd both pass with high marks."

"Have you told them that?"

"No. But I plan to at the yearly reviews next month." He chose a pair of weights and began some biceps curls.

"They pass and you'll have a lot of officers on your team."

"Only four."

"That's a lot considering the size of _Enterprise_'s security force. You better look out, or they'll all be after your job," he joked.

Reed chuckled. "There are days I'd be happy to give it to one of them." 

He remembered a moment months ago when a freezing Trip had attempted to climb up into the airlock of Shuttlepod One to give Malcolm a better chance of surviving until _Enterprise_ arrived. Reed had pulled out a phase-pistol and threatened to stun his new lover if he didn't come back down. Furious, Tucker had responded with his own threat. 

_"Then go ahead and shoot me, but you better hope we don't make it, because if we survive the first thing I'm gonna do is bust your ass back to Crewman Second Class for insubordination!" _

"Be my guest!" Malcolm had snarled back. "I could use a little less responsibility."

For an official 'first fight' as a couple, it had been a doozy. That had been a particularly bad time, of course. Usually their days were much more routine.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" asked Trip, breaking into the armory officer's thoughts.

"What?"

"If you had to hand your department over to one of your team, who would you choose?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just curious." Trip shrugged with the shoulder not currently involved in triceps kickbacks.

"I've left the department in others' hands plenty of times."

"Sure, but I mean if you had to hand it over, not just leave it for a little while."

Malcolm paused in his reps to look at his partner. "Do you know something I don't?" he joked.

Trip laughed. "Course not. Forget it. It was just dumb talk."

"I don't know if I'd call it that. Random talk, perhaps."

The gym door opened then, and Cormack entered. "Hello, sirs," she said amiably.

"Evening, Stephanie," answered Reed with a smile. 

Tucker only nodded a brief hello in the ensign's general direction.

"You're not by any chance bucking for a promotion these days, are you?" Malcolm continued casually.

"'Scuse me?" Cormack replied, taken off guard.

Reed laughed at her perplexed look. "Nothing. Just idle talk the commander and I were sharing."

"Great. Like I wanted to hear that with the first year reviews coming up. Now I'm going to be wondering all the time. That's not good for yogic concentration, you know."

"You told me real yogis were free of anticipation."

"Do I look like a real yogi to you?" countered Cormack. Not expecting an answer, she looked at Tucker as she rolled out her mat. "Is he this deliberately obfuscatory with you, Commander? Because if he is, you must be the most patient man in the galaxy."

Malcolm laughed again. Trip just shrugged as he adjusted his hand weights for a new set of exercises. "Hadn't thought about it," he said flatly.

"Well if you haven't noticed it, it must just be me." She gave Malcolm a mock-annoyed grimace. "Thanks so very much."

Normally, Trip loved the sound of Malcolm's laughter. Here and now, it only made him angry. He wasn't mad at him for laughing; he was mad at the person who made him laugh so easily. "You ready to hit the bag?" he asked suddenly.

"I suppose. Didn't you want to do more weight-training first?"

"Nah." He punctuated the statement by dropping the bars he held back into their cradles and locking them down.

Reed sensed something was wrong, but he wouldn't say anything while they had an audience. "All right." Before he could put his weights away, Trip was moving to the corner of the room that held the heavy punching bag. Malcolm locked down the weights and picked up his and Trip's towels before following the engineer.

"You'll want this," he said. He handed over a roll of cloth tape from his pocket. 

Trip took it. "Thanks."

Cormack was prudently trying to ignore the men's conversation. She, too, could tell something was up, but it wasn't any of her business. Of course that didn't stop her worrying about it.

_Wonder if this is what Mae was talking about the other week,_ she thought. The engineer had told her Tucker had been unusually short-tempered lately. Then she remembered her own brief encounter with him here in the gym only a day before Mae had mentioned it. And there was the commander's strange reticence when she'd run into him and Lieutenant Reed in the mess hall the morning they'd arrived at Paraagan Two. With everything that had happened since, she'd forgotten all about it. Now the memories came back with more significance. 

_Oh Goddess,_ Stephanie thought in sudden apprehension. _I hope there's nothing wrong between Malcolm and Commander Tucker._ She couldn't know as far as Trip was concerned, the only problem was her.

*****

"Lawless to Lieutenant Reed."

Malcolm took a quick look around the armory before answering. "Reed here," he said to the comm.

"I have theequipment you requested, sir," said Mae. 

"Do you it have with you?"

"Yes, sir. I can bring it down to the armory now if you'd like."

"Excellent. Thank you, Ensign." He closed the comm and checked the time. _Good_, he thought. Cormack and a team were running routine checks on the shuttlepods' armaments and defenses. It was a project that would keep her out of the armory all day and then some. He was the only one here this morning, just as he'd planned.

A few moments later, Ensign Lawless entered carrying a small silver case like those in which tools were kept for away missions. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Here's that equipment you wanted." She handed him the case, which he took and set on the table.

He released the catches and opened it. A satisfied smile quirked his lips. "Thank you," he said again, shutting it securely. "I owe you one."

"Actually, I have a suggestion on that point."

"What is it?"

"Information."

Reed was dubious. "Information?"

"Nothing classified," Lawless hastily assured him.

"What sort of information?"

The engineer looked uncomfortable, but she was determined. "You know about the joke Ensign Cutler and I played on Cormack. And you know about the band she was in." Reed nodded. "I figured she wouldn't have told you about the joke if you didn't already know about the band. I don't know how you found out about it, but I won't ask you if you don't ask me. The point is," she hurried on, "we—Ensign Cutler and I—we're sort ofexpecting revenge. Maybe—if you hear something—you couldpass it on?"

Reed was learning all sorts of interesting information in this little exchange. He found it fascinating. "It's been months since you two pulled that prank. Do you really think she's still stewing over it?" he asked.

"No," said Lawless unconvincingly. "But you never know, you know? Stephanie can be really resourceful. And devious."

While he couldn't deny the accuracy of her description, the lieutenant thought it might just as appropriately be applied to Lawless herself. Somehow he didn't think of Cormack as the vengeful sort, but he could be wrong. Ensign Lawless had known her far longer than he had. "All right," he said, mildly amused. "If I hear anything that sounds like she's plotting against you two, I'll let you know."

The dark-haired woman looked inordinately relieved. "Thank you, sir!" She turned to leave.

"What if I don't hear anything?"

"Sir?"

"If I don't hear anything, I still owe you for this." He nodded at the case of 'equipment.'

"No, sir! Just knowing we have someone on the inside is payment enough, even if you never hear a thing."

Reed chuckled at her sincerity. "She really has you running scared, doesn't she?"

"No, sir," protested Mae. "If I had somewhere to run, I wouldn't be scared at all."

The lieutenant allowed the door to shut completely behind the departing engineer before laughing out loud. _Perhaps Stephanie _is_ the vengeful sort,_ he thought. _If so, this paranoia she's engendered is a clever way for her to exact her revenge._

*****

"Afternoon, Captain," said Trip as he entered the ready room. "Got that update on the repairs." He handed over a datapad.

"Great! Have a seat," Archer replied, taking the pad.

Tucker pulled up the chair that sat in front of Archer's desk, turning it backwards before sitting astride it and resting his arms on the back. "So what was it like?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

"What was what like?" the captain answered question with question. He knew what his old friend was asking, but he felt the need to stall a little.

"Come on. You know what I'm talking about. The future. The 31st century. What was it like?"

Archer considered carefully before answering. "Dirty," he said at last.

"Come again?"

"Trip, the future Daniels took me to wasn't the one he'd come from. The Utopia he lived—liveswill live—" He paused and shook his head. "I think I _hate_ temporal language mechanics." Trip chuckled. "Anyway," Archer continued, "it wasn't there. The future we were in was desolate, devoid of life, dirty. Bombed out buildings, rubble everywhere." He shook his head again. The image of the future he held in his memory was one he could have happily done without.

"But that's not going to happen now, right?"

"I don't know. Presumably not, if it really was my absence from the present time that brought it about."

"Yeah. That's part of it that I don't really get. How could _one person_ make such a big difference?" He gave his captain a teasing look. "No offense."

Archer laughed. "None taken, and I don't know the answer to that, either."

"C'mon," Trip said again cajolingly. "Isn't there _anything_ you can tell me?"

"There was something that might have interested you," the captain began.

"What was—iswill be—I think I see what you mean," Tucker said wryly. He decided to go for the easiest form of the question. "What?"

"Books."

"Books."

"A whole library filled floor to ceiling with actual books."

"We have books." Trip was confused; he was sure there was something the captain wasn't telling him.

"Not like this," Archer insisted. "I've never seen such a huge collection of bound books in my life. It was amazing! There was one that caught my eye while we were trying to figure out what had happened. _The Romulan Star Empire_."

"Never heard of it."

"Neither had I, but Daniels didn't think it was something I should see."

Now Trip understood. "So you think it's important."

"I do."

"Did you get a chance to look at it?"

"No. We had other things to worry about at the time. But I've been doing some research. I have the Vulcan database, plus the information we've gotten from some of the species we've met out here. If there's anything in our records, I intend to find it."

"You're going to tell me when you do, right?"

"Count on it."

*****

The cabin door slid open and Cormack stuck her head inside. "Hey," she said brightly.

"Hey," replied her roommate with a smile. She was sitting on her bunk studying a datapad. "What's up?"

"You want to get some dinner?"

"Sure." Liz placed an electronic marker in the text she was reading before turning off the pad.

"What's that?" Stephanie asked.

"Something Phlox recommended. It's a sort of _Gray's Anatomy_ for Denobulans."

"Cool. Ready to go?"

"Yep."

They locked the cabin door and headed toward the mess hall. There was an unaccustomed bounce in Cormack's step, and her friend wondered at it.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Cutler asked.

"Nothing in particular. I just had a good day, I guess."

"Does it have anything to do with the upcoming yearly reviews?"

"Hardly!" They entered the bustling mess hall and made a beeline for the food. "Oo! Fish and chips!" Stephanie immediately claimed a full plate and an empty glass.

Cutler was close behind her with her own dinner as they got in line for the drinks dispenser. "So what is it?"

"I told you, I just had an especially good day. Root beer, very cold," she ordered, placing her glass under the dispenser.

"Hang on." Liz was struck with inspiration. "Has baseball season started yet?"

"Almost. They're playing exhibition games right now. The actual season doesn't get underway until week after next—the third of April, to be precise."

"So you just had a good day, huh?"

"Yep." Cormack took her full glass and waited as her roommate's filled with sparkling water.

They claimed a table. "I'll get us condiments," offered Liz. "What do you want?"

"Tartar and vinegar, of course," Stephanie replied. 

While Cutler was getting these, Lawless appeared. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not."

Lawless sat, placing her meal on the table. "Thanks. Hey, you planning on doing anything special for your birthday this year?"

"Shh! and no."

"What?"

"No one else knows when my birthday is, so shush."

"Since when do you not celebrate your birthday?" demanded Mae. "It was always a party back in training."

"Yeah, but I just want to have a mellow birthday this year."

"You always said you were looking forward to turning 30."

"I am! I just don't feel the need for a party. I mean, come on. We're on a starship light-years from home. There's not a lot to party with."

"But—"

"Shh!"

At that moment Cutler returned, carrying plastic bottles of tartar sauce, malt vinegar, and ketchup. "Hi, Mae." She set down the bottles and sat, reaching immediately to pick up the vinegar again. She began dashing it over her fish and chips.

Shooting Stephanie a "we're not done with this subject" look, Mae grabbed the ketchup bottle. "Oo! Ketchup!" she said by way of hello.

"You'll never get that bottle away from her," Stephanie warned her bunkmate. "The woman's a ketchup fiend."

Liz laughed. "I know. That's why I made sure to get one that was completely full when I saw her sit down."

"How thoughtful," grinned Mae. She opened the ketchup, held it at a very precise angle over her fries, and gently tapped the bottom.

"That's a regular science, isn't it?" Liz watched with an intensity bordering on fascination.

"And Mae's an expert," put in Stephanie. She herself was unceremoniously shaking tartar sauce onto her plate.

A slow ooze of red slithered onto Mae's fries. "It takes a sure hand to do this properly," she said in her most professorial tones. "You want enough to be able to slather the fries but you don't want them to drown in the ketchup. It's a skill acquired over many, many years. Oh!" Without warning the ketchup poured freely, creating a pool on her plate. She quickly tipped the bottle upright and froze, staring a little wide-eyed and stunned.

Cormack and Cutler froze, too, then all three burst into laughter. 

"Have some fries with your ketchup," giggled Stephanie.

Mae saw her chance. "Be nice or I won't give you the birthday present I have for you!"

"Birthday?!" exclaimed Liz. "When's your birthday? It's not today, is it? Is that why you're in such a good mood?"

"You shit," Cormack shot at Lawless. She wasn't really angry, but she felt she had to say something. To Cutler she added, "No and no. It's next week, actually—the 29th. Thanks so much, Mae, for mentioning it. I should have known you'd never forget my birthday," she said dryly.

"What are friends for?" Lawless replied with a grin.

"Slow roasting over a low flame until tender and juicy?"

"Oh funny."

"Or perhaps a nice friend biriyani. I hear it goes very well with mango chutney."

"Only if it's spicy mango chutney," countered Mae.

"I'm sure I can find some."

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday next week?" Cutler broke in, suspending their culinary discussion.

"Because it isn't important."

"We celebrated my birthday, and Mae's. What made you think you'd get off the hook?"

"I don't want you guys to go to any bother," insisted Cormack.

"We won't," Mae lied. "Trust me."

*****

Malcolm settled deeper into the bunk. It had been a long day of work, and his tired brain was still racing with things that needed to be done. He was finally beginning to drift off when a random thought yanked him awake. He opened his eyes in the dark cabin, the only illumination the stars and the bedside chronometer. The former were there day or night; the latter told him it was past midnight.

"Trip?" he whispered. No response. He tried again. "Trip?"

"Mmm?" came the unintelligible mutter from the form beside him. 

"Are you having dinner with Captain Archer on Wednesday?"

"Huh?" Trip had been on the brink of slumber when Malcolm's soft calling of his name pulled him back. The engineer rolled over to face him, bleary eyes blinking in semi-conscious confusion.

"Are you having dinner with Captain Archer on Wednesday?" Reed repeated.

"Dunno. Why?"

"I'm planning ahead."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Malcolm realized from Trip's expression that the younger man probably wasn't even going to remember this conversation come morning. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

Trip mumbled something Malcolm couldn't make out, then promptly fell asleep. Reed chuckled softly. He enjoyed watching the fair-haired engineer sleep. He loved the beginnings of laugh-lines Tucker had at the corners of his eyes, but in sleep all his features smoothed out, making him appear vulnerable and innocent.

Reed leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lover's cheek. Trip snuggled closer to him without waking, making Malcolm smile. "Sweet dreams," he whispered.

*****

"Is everything arranged?"

"Yep. She gave in to the whole party idea, but she said she didn't want a big fuss."

"And you believe her?"

"Yeah. It'll just be a few friends, a few presents, and lots of key lime pie."

"I'll take your word on it, although I'm dubious about the pie."

"Trust me. It's her favorite."

"All right. The Rec. Center at 2100 hours tomorrow, then."

"See you there," agreed Mae.

The comm closed, leaving Malcolm in silence. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. He'd left the details of planning the party to Ensign Lawless. It wasn't often he'd had the occasion to plan one and so he wasn't particularly adept at it, but he wanted Cormack's birthday to be fun. It seemed the least he could do for the first real friend he'd made on board _Enterprise_. _Not to mention all the favors she's done me over the past several months,_ his minded added. The thought reminded him of something else.

He rose and left his cabin. A couple of minutes later he was ringing the bell at Trip's quarters.

"C'mon in," called the engineer. Malcolm opened the door and stepped inside. Trip was already dressed for bed in long, navy blue pajama bottoms and a loose gray T-shirt. Reed smiled at the sight.

Tucker looked up from his desk and returned the smile. "Hi," he said. He immediately shut down what he'd been working on.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" asked Malcolm with a gesture towards the computer.

"Nope. I was just reading a new technical journal before turning in. It can wait." He rose and crossed the cabin to take his partner in his arms. He kissed him soundly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Trip asked lightly, once he'd broken off the kiss.

"My pleasure, you mean." Malcolm smiled wider. He could easily have sunk into that embrace, that kiss, and never come out again. He had to force himself to come to the matter that had brought him here. "I asked you the other night if you were dining with Captain Archer Wednesday evening."

"You did?" Trip was at a loss; he had no recollection of the conversation in question.

"It's all right. You were mostly asleep at the time."

"Oh."

"I wondered if you have answer for me now you're awake."

"I do." Trip kissed Malcolm's cheek and then nibbled on his earlobe. Malcolm shivered at the touch of his lips and teeth.

"So?" he asked, trying desperately to keep on topic long enough to get an answer. After that, he was more than willing to let the blond man have his way with him.

"I'm not" Warm kisses trailed along Malcolm's neck to the edge of his collar. "dining with the Captain" Fingers tangled in Malcolm's dark hair. "tomorrow."

"Mmm. Good."

"The kisses or the information?" asked Trip softly, his warm breath caressing his lover's ear.

"Both." Reed closed his eyes to better enjoy the sweet sensations.

"Good." Trip continued to kiss Malcolm, moving along the smaller man's jawline to his lips. He paused there only briefly before continuing around to the other side. "I love your cheekbones," he murmured, pressing still more kisses on one to punctuate his point.

"They quite fancy you," answered Malcolm with a low chuckle, which Trip returned.

"So what's going on tomorrow night?" Tucker asked between kisses. The matter was secondary, but part of his brain wouldn't let him concentrate on the important things until this question was answered.

"Birthday party."

"Yeah? Whose?"

Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at Trip, causing the younger man to pause. "Do we have to discuss this now?" he asked, hoping the answer was no. His erection was pressing almost painfully against the combined constraints of his underwear and uniform.

"No." Tucker shook his head ever so slightly.

"Good, because you're doing a fair job of seducing me, although I'd recommend a little less off topic conversation if you want to succeed," he teased. They both knew it was idle talk. They could have been discussing hull plating or thermodynamics and Malcolm would have found it sexy at this point.

"Ah. You'd rather I discuss your impossibly high cheekbones some more?" Trip asked, kissing each in turn.

"It's a start." A smile quirked the corner of Reed's mouth.

"Or that darling little not-quite-smile you get when you're particularly pleased with something?" He kissed the smile next.

"I like your theme," whispered Reed when he regained his breath.

"Oh I could write a whole thesis if you want." Trip's strong hands grasped both of Malcolm's buttocks tightly, pulling him closer. Reed could feel his lover's hardness press against his own.

"Maybe another time." Their eyes met and held. "Right now, you could just make love to me."

"Now that's a theme on which I'm happy to expound. Wait right there." He quickly dimmed the lights to half. "Mood lighting." He called up a program on the computer, and rich, smoky jazz began to play. "Mood music." He returned to his waiting partner. "Now to find the appropriate outfit." With a smile shared by both men, Trip began the slow, sensuous process of undressing his lover.

*****

It was at least two weeks since Reed had witnessed one of Tucker's swings of moodiness. As a result, the newest one hit him from out of the blue.

"What do you mean you don't feel up to going?" Malcolm asked.

"I mean I don't think I'd be very good company, that's all."

"You were up for it half an hour ago. What can possibly have changed in that length of time?"

"Nothing. I just don't feel like going." Trip knew perfectly well what had changed in those thirty minutes, of course; he'd found out who the party was for. _You're being stupid,_ he thought. _Either suck it up and go, or tell him what's wrong._ But he couldn't. _How do you tell the man you love that you don't like his best friend?_ He knew his jealousy of Malcolm's relationship with Cormack was unfounded and foolish, but he couldn't seem to get past it. Neither could he bring himself to share with his partner how petty and childish he was being.

Malcolm stood there, looking at him in confusion. "Stephanie's going to wonder if you're not there." An idea occurred to him. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Huh?"

"You're not coming down with something, are you?" It had happened to Reed last year; it wasn't outside the realm of possibility it had happened to Tucker now. He sat down on the bunk next to him; the engineer edged away.

"No."

"Then what's wrong? You've been acting oddly off and on for weeks." 

A sick, sinking feeling of realization suddenly hit Malcolm in the gut. Clearly he'd done it again—shut out the person he was with—and now that person no longer wanted him around. It was an old, old pattern, and he could hardly blame Trip for it. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; he ought to have seen it coming. The signs were all there now that he thought back on it. But he'd thought it was different this time—he truly had. Everything had certainly seemed all right last night His face grew still as stone.

Trip knew that look. He hated that look. It was a look he'd hoped never to cause. _Oh shit. Great job, Trip. Now you've done it._ "Malcolm—" He stopped, not knowing what to say.

"I'm going to go," Reed said flatly. He stood and turned to leave the cabin.

"Wait."

Malcolm paused. Silence. "What?" he finally asked, not turning around.

Trip's heart ached and he was angry all at once. He ached to think he'd hurt Malcolm's feelings; he knew how fragile they were under that stoic demeanor. Equally, he was angry—angry with Malcolm for misunderstanding, angry with himself because he knew it was his own fault. "Fine. Go," he said sharply.

Reed said nothing. He crossed the few feet to the door and left the cabin.

Trip sat unmoving. Inside his head his brain was screaming at him to go after Malcolm, explain everything, make things right. But he sat there in angry silence, knowing he was the one to blame for this whole damned mess, but not making a move to fix it.

The part of his brain that had been screaming moments ago now berated him viciously. _Dumbass. What the hell did you _think_ was gonna happen? Huh? Did you think he was just gonna smile and say, 'Okay, sweetheart, you do whatever you feel is best'? 'Cause you're dumber than I thought if that's what you figured._

_Shut up, damn it!_ he cursed the little voice.

But the little voice wouldn't be silenced. _Get up off your butt and go after him! You know what he's thinking, don't you?_

He didn't answer.

_Don't you?!_ demanded the voice more vehemently.

_Yes!_

He stood abruptly and opened his cabin door. Malcolm was out of sight. _Shit._ He knew where his partner was going, however. He rushed for the nearest turbolift, hoping to catch him.

The corridor was empty.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

He hailed the lift. He was going end this stupid misunderstanding tonight no matter what it took.

"C'mon, c'mon!" he muttered as he waited for the lift. The door hadn't even finished opening by the time he was inside and calling up the deck he wanted. "Hurry up, damn it!" he swore under his breath. Finally the lift was underway.

Agonizing seconds ticked past until he arrived at the deck. Once again, he slipped through the door as soon as the opening was big enough. He rushed by two startled crewmen without a glance. He had to catch Malcolm before he got to the Rec. Center.

Then he spotted him. The armory officer was barely two meters from his destination.

"Malcolm!" called Trip, not slowing his pace. Surprised, Reed stopped and looked at him. Trip practically skidded to a halt next to him. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to go. I don't ever want you to go." 

Suddenly realizing they were standing a potentially high-traffic area, he took Reed's arm and led him several steps down the corridor and around a corner. Malcolm allowed himself to be led away, staring at Trip in perplexed silence. That was fine by Trip.

Tucker was babbling and he didn't care. Words poured out in a barely coherent stream.

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated emphatically. "I love you. I've been a prick, and I'm sorry. It's not your fault; it's mine. It's me. It's—" _Say it!_ "I don't like Ensign Cormack. I know it's stupid. She hasn't done anything to me. I don't even know what started it. She's been great to you—to _us_. I love you, I just don't like _her_," he finished in a rush. He looked at Malcolm, a mixture of hope and worry and apology showing on his expressive face.

Malcolm simply continued to stare at him. His brain was wildly processing what Trip had said. His thoughts spun until they lit upon the most important thing. "You still love me?"

"Of course I do! Damn it!" The quiet curse was directed at himself. He grasped Malcolm's hands in his own, made certain his eyes held his partners' just as firmly. "I never meant to make you doubt that, and I'm sorry if I did." He took a deep breath. "I just don't like Stephanie."

Tucker waited as another tense silence grew between the two men. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. "Say something, please! Call me an idiot. Tell me I'm crazy. _Something!_"

The rigid mask of Malcolm's face relaxed slightly. "You're an idiot," he said. "And you're completely mad."

Trip grinned. Everything would be okay now.

"And you're not off the hook," Malcolm added, seeing his expression change. His relief at Tucker's confession was tempered with confusion, frustration, and hurt, but now was neither the time nor the place to deal with it. "We're going to talk about this, and you're going to tell me what's been going on in a bit more depth. But not right now. I have a party to go to. Are you coming, or shall I tell Stephanie you send your regrets?" 

The inquiry was so neutral Trip wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't guess from his partner's expression or tone of voice what answer he wanted to hear. The decision had been left entirely up to him. _Damn,_ thought Trip. "I'm going to go back to my cabin," he said at last.

Malcolm gave a nod of acceptance. "All right."

"Will you come by after the party?" He was almost afraid to ask it.

"Yes, I will. Assuming it's not too late."

"It's never too late for you to stop by."

"For some things, no," agreed Malcolm with a small smile. 

The gentle innuendo was music to Tucker's ears. Everything really would be okay. "For _anything_," he countered.

"You say that now, but if I wake you up at 1:00 a.m. to have a heart-to-heart about this little matter, I wonder if you'll be so accommodating." It was a challenge, a mild one certainly, but a challenge.

"Well, I can't guarantee I'll be real coherent under those circumstances, but I'd sure as hell give it a try," the engineer offered gamely.

Malcolm smiled a little wider, tenderly mocking. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow." Trip's face fell. "It's all right. I'm not angry with you, either. But go. I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast." He gave Trip a small, reassuring kiss. "I love you."

Tucker heaved a sigh of heartfelt relief. "I love you, too. See you in the morning."

Reed nodded again and watched as Tucker retreated to the nearest lift and was whisked away.

The armory officer took several moments to collect himself and put this incident behind him for the time being. It was Stephanie's birthday, and he was going to celebrate it with her and her friends. He'd hoped for Trip's reassuring presence that evening for a number of reasons. The engineer's easy-going manner made him a natural at group functions, while Malcolm was usually rather reticent and uncomfortable. It would have been nice having his lover there; even simply knowing he was in the room would have made the evening easier to handle.

_That's not an option, Malcolm,_ he told himself firmly. _You'll simply have to do this on your own. Stephanie is your friend. You'll do fine._

Taking a deep, calming breath, he steeled himself for what was ahead and entered the Rec. Center.

Music was playing in the background, and small groups of people were chatting and sipping drinks. There was a little stack of presents on one table, and a cake and a number of key lime pies on another. Glancing around the room, he realized a third of his own staff were in attendance, as well as many others, including Ensigns Mayweather, Cutler, Sato, and Lawless. Then he spotted Stephanie. She was practically doubled over laughing at something Dr. Kyrin Douglas had just said. As she straightened up, she saw him. 

"Excuse me," she said to the psychiatrist before hurrying over to the new arrival. "Hey, Malcolm!"

"Hello. Happy birthday."

"Thanks!"

"I hope you've left a few security personnel minding the store," he teased.

"One or two," joked Cormack in reply. "I'm glad you're here. I was beginning to wonder if you were coming. You're usually so punctual, you had me worried." A puzzled look crossed her face suddenly. "Where's Commander Tucker? Isn't he with you?"

"Unfortunately he's busier than he expected to be and won't be joining us. He sends his regrets and his good wishes," Malcolm said evenly.

"Is everything cool?" she asked in a concerned undertone.

"Yes."

Stephanie wasn't convinced. "Really?"

"Yes," Reed insisted.

She eyed him doubtfully. "You're not just saying that?" She was suddenly very worried the suspicions she'd had the other week were correct.

"No, I'm not just saying that. Everything is fine," he assured her. "Now go mingle. You're neglecting the rest of your guests."

"You're really not just saying that because you don't want me to worry on my birthday?"

"Stephanie" He made the name alone sound like a threat.

"Okay! Okay! Have a glass of wine. There's Jo-Ris and Shiraz." At his inquisitive look, she added, "Both dealcoholized, of course. If you want the real stuff, you can use your own alcohol ration."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Hey, Stephanie!" called Travis, approaching from across the room. "Hi, Malcolm," he said as he reached them.

"Travis," Reed answered.

Mayweather turned back to Cormack, asking, "What's this music that's playing? Liz said you'd know."

Stephanie paused a moment, listening. She was about to answer when Malcolm beat her to it. "Cordelia's Sisters," he said. "Their second or third album, isn't it?"

Cormack nodded. "Yeah, it's the third one. 'Calling the Moon' is the name of it."

"I quite like that one," said Malcolm. "Particularly the title track."

"Yeah, Regan has a serious knack for poetry, and that one's one of her best, I think."

Travis gave Reed a surprised look. "How did you—? I didn't know you were into this kind of music, Lieutenant."

"I'm full of all sorts of surprises, Ensign," Malcolm replied enigmatically.

The song came to an end and a short silence fell. "Mae," Stephanie called out to the engineer. "You're falling down on the job, girlfriend."

"You didn't tell me what you wanted next!" argued Mae amicably.

"Play that new one Ryn and Gemma sent. That Rowan's Circle album."

"You got it!" She accessed the music library and peppy Celtic-Inuit punk fusion began to play.

"Thanks!"

"Rowan's Circle?" asked Reed.

"New band out of Inuvik, Northwest Territories. Guitar, bass, and fiddle. They're just hitting the national scene. I guess a demo came into Gemma's office, and she and Ryn thought I'd like it so they sent it for my birthday." They listened for several phrases. "They were so right! It's definitely good party music, too. C'mon, fellas," she said, clapping Mayweather and Reed on the shoulder, startling them both. "Let me buy you a drink."

Before she could make good on the offer, however, Liz intercepted them and cried out, "Toast!" She pressed a glass of red wine into her bunkmate's hand as Lawless passed drinks off to each of the men. "To the birthday girl!" 

Everyone but Stephanie raised their glasses and drank.

"Thank you, thank you," said Cormack. "Now it's my turn." She held her glass up, pondering an appropriate toast. "To Mae and Liz. I have no idea how you pulled this off—particularly the key lime pies—but thank you. It means a lot to me. And to everyone who came to party with me. I know you're not simply here for the free booze, 'cause there ain't any," she quipped. Everyone chuckled. "I guess that means you must just like me. Cool. To you!" She gave another lift of her glass, which was echoed by everyone else, and they all drank once again.

"Presents!" shouted Liz. She grabbed Stephanie, divested her of her drink, and guided her to a chair. "Sit. It's time to open the presents."

"I told you guys I didn't need presents," argued Stephanie.

"You also told us you didn't _need_ a party," interjected Lawless, "but I don't hear you complaining." She grinned.

"Thank you," reiterated the birthday girl, dryly this time. It only made Mae grin wider.

There followed a wild mixture of laughter and tearing paper. The gifts were few and small, there being limited gift options aboard the starship. While the others watched Stephanie gleefully opening the presents, Mae sidled over to Malcolm.

"Where's yours, Lieutenant?" she asked under her breath.

"Waiting in her cabin. I dropped it off with Liz while Stephanie was out."

"What for?"

"You know what it is. Do you really think it wise to give it to her here?"

"Right." Mae nodded knowingly. "Good point."

*****

With the presents unwrapped and the desserts consumed, it was time to head to bed. By ones and twos, people left for their cabins and a morning that would come all too soon.

"Gods, is it really that late?" Cormack exclaimed, seeing the time.

"Unfortunately," answered Lawless.

Everyone had filed out but the two of them, Reed, Cutler, and Mayweather.

"You want help cleaning up?" offered Travis.

"Nah, thanks," Lawless said. She and Liz were gathering up ribbons and scraps of wrapping paper that had somehow managed to get strewn like confetti all over the room.

"You sure?"

"Yes, go," Liz answered this time. She paused in her cleaning to give him a good-night kiss. "Go to bed. You have to fly the ship in the morning."

"Okay. Good night. Happy birthday, Stephanie."

Cormack gave him a tired smile. "Thanks, Travis. Glad you came."

"Wouldn't have missed it. G'night." Travis departed, leaving the three women and Reed alone with the aftermath of the evening's festivities.

"You go, too," said Liz.

"Huh?" was Stephanie's eloquent reply.

"You go, too," her bunkmate repeated. "Mae and I will clean up the rest of this. Go on."

"It's okay. I'll stay."

"You'd best go," put in Malcolm. "Get some sleep so you can get up on time. You know how cranky your C.O. gets when you're late for duty. I'll help the ladies finish cleaning up here."

"You don't have to do that, Lieutenant," Mae said.

"Actually, I'm only planning on cleaning up that last piece of pie," he answered with a smirk.

"You should take it to Commander Tucker," suggested Cormack.

Reed seemed to consider the question, then simply said, "No."

Stephanie chuckled, and the chuckle grew into a huge yawn.

"Go," ordered Mae, noticing the yawn. "You're wiped out. Besides, you shouldn't have to clean up after your own birthday party."

"Wellokay. If you're sure it's cool."

"It's cool. Now get out of here."

"Thanks, guys." Stephanie gave Mae and Liz each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, but she knew better than to do the same to Malcolm, particularly in front of witnesses; it would have made him terribly uncomfortable. "You rock."

"We know," replied Liz breezily. "Now go on. You want to take the presents, or do you want me to bring them?"

"I can get them." Cormack collected up the gifts. "Not a bad haul for being so far away from any sort of center of commerce," she joked. "Thanks again. Good night, all."

"Good night," said Malcolm.

"Night," said Mae.

"See you in a few minutes," said Liz.

Stephanie left the Rec. Center and headed to her cabin. Once inside, she deposited her presents on the desk, freeing a hand to turn up the light. A purple package sat in the center of her bunk. "What the—?" She sat and pulled the attached card from its envelope.

_Stephanie—  
I didn't think this was quite the appropriate thing for you to open in front of witnesses.  
Nor is it an appropriate gift from one's C.O. However, as your friend, I think you'll like it.  
Happy Birthday,  
Malcolm_

Slowly and with a mild sense of trepidation, Stephanie set aside the card and opened the package. Inside rested a pair of pajamas. Pink pajamas. Violently pink pajamas. The same color pink she'd had her hair for three years when she'd played with Daughters of Lear. "Oh my gods," she said, laughing. She held them up: long pink pants with the name Cordelia down the right leg; a pink tank top with a concert photo of the three of them printed on it in vivid color. "Ohmygods!"

Out in the corridor a mystified crewman paused, hearing peals of laughter coming from the behind the cabin door. He shook his head and walked on.

*****  
End Log 2:2  
_(Completed 2 Oct 02)_

Continued in Log 2:3


	3. Log 2:3

**Log Rhythms: Season Two  
**By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:3**: (Takes place immediately preceding, during, and immediately following _Minefield_.)  
_Rating [PG]_

*****

"But what on Earth could he want to talk about?" demanded Reed nervously.

"I don't know," answered Tucker for the nth time. "It's just breakfast, Malcolm. Relax. It'll be fine."

"Of course _you'd_ say that. You've known him for years." He fidgeted with the collar of his uniform yet again.

The engineer grabbed his lover's hands and held them still. "Exactly my point," he said. "I know he doesn't have any dark ulterior motives. You're not getting fired. You're not getting busted. He probably just wants to get to know you better."

"He knew my service record when he recruited me. Since then he's found out my birthday and my favorite food. What more does he need to know?"

"Don't forget he knows you're sleeping with his best friend," teased Trip, trying to lighten his spirits.

"Thank you. That makes me feel _particularly_ confident."

"You'll be fine." The blond man pressed a reassuring kiss on his partner's lips. "Just be you."

"With all due respect, love, that's not the most helpful advice you've ever given me."

*****

Fiasco. That was the word that continued to run through Reed's mind as the lift took him and Captain Archer to the bridge. Breakfast had been a fiasco. Trip was going tease him about it when he found out, but he didn't care. He could handle a little ribbing from his partner better than a one-on-one meal with his captain.

But there was no time to worry about that now. The promise of a Minshara-class planet was a pleasant distraction even when it didn't rescue him from an awkward and unwelcome situation. He sat down at his tactical station and began checking the readings of the planet below.

Archer was happily making plans to visit the surface when all hell broke loose.

*****

The explosion rocked the ship, all the more jarring for being so completely unexpected. Engineering was a madhouse. Tucker shouted orders as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened.

"Billy?" he called through sparks and smoke. "Billy!" The young crewman appeared beside him out of the chaos. Trip clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. "Get a head count of everyone here. Make sure no one's missing. Then start getting any injured to sickbay."

"Yes, sir." The crewman began counting those nearest and moved off, working his way carefully through the confusion.

The comm chirped and Tucker heard, "Archer to Engineering."

"Captain," he answered, "what's going on?" The reply he got wasn't encouraging.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"We've got plasma fires, an overload in the EPS grid, but whatever caused that explosion, I don't have a clue. Weapons fire? An asteroid?"

"Nothing on our sensors. How are your people?"

Trip took a quick look around and spotted Billy. He gave the crewman a questioning look, which the young man returned with a thumbs up. "A few bumps and bruises," the relieved engineer told his captain. "But we're all right."

"Keep me posted. Archer out."

"All right, people," Tucker called to the room, "let's get these fires out so we can figure out what's gone up in smoke and what's salvageable."

*****

The facts, when Tucker learned them, didn't make him feel better. They'd wandered into a cloaked minefield surrounding an M-class planet. The quantum beacons they'd used to detect the Suliban two months ago had allowed them to learn this much. It was one of these mines that had damaged _Enterprise_. Not long after the explosion, a second had attached itself to the ship's starboard side not five meters from the impulse reactor. A little luck was on their side this time as the mine's proximity sensors were damaged, and it didn't explode.

Trip knew he shouldn't have been surprised to hear Malcolm was out on the ship's hull trying to disarm it. It was exactly the sort of thing _Enterprise_'s Armory Officer lived for. The fact that it tied Tucker's guts into knots just thinking about it was irrelevant.

_That's what you get for falling in love with a man who works with explosives,_ he chided himself. As far as comforting thoughts went, it wasn't high on the scale, but it was the truth.

Right now the ship was on maneuvering thrusters only, moving slowly out of the minefield under the steady hand of Ensign Mayweather. Somewhere behind them followed an alien ship. It had shown up to warn them off not long after Malcolm had gone out on his space walk. The vessel had re-cloaked after firing a couple of less than subtle warning shots across _Enterprise_'s bow. Unfortunately, the quantum beacons weren't able to penetrate the ship's cloak as they had the mines'.

Tucker sat at the bridge's tactical station, coordinating efforts to detach the section of hull plating where Reed was working on the mine. It was going to take several hours and some serious re-routing of the already damaged EPS grid to do it. The Captain had promised it would be a last resort, and of course they wouldn't detach anything while Malcolm was still out there, but all his reassurances didn't help the twisted up, frightened feeling in Trip's belly.

His eyes widened in alarm as he heard Malcolm's voice through the comm calmly announcing that a third magnetic spike had extended from the mine, joining its fellows in holding the explosive in place. On its way, the spike had gone through Reed's leg. Now the armory officer was trapped, pinned to the hull—the very piece of hull Tucker's team was working to remove. 

"I'll be right there," Archer replied sharply. "You have the Bridge," he added to T'Pol. He was already half-way to the turbolift before Trip could get a word out.

Tucker rose, hurrying toward his departing C.O. "Captain, I should be the one to go out there. I'm the engineer." His look said what his words couldn't in the circumstances. _Let me go. I have to save him! I need him!_

Archer saw it, easily reading the expression on his old friend's face. "That's why I need you here, Trip," he said aloud. He hoped the younger man could read his own expression just as easily. _I'll bring him back. I promise._

The lift door closed behind him, and he was gone.

Trip should have known it was futile to argue. No words, no pleading look was going to make the Captain change his mind and send Tucker out there instead. _It might have,_ the engineer tried to convince himself. _If he hadn't taken off so damn fast._

Now he was stuck waiting. Damage reports were still coming in, although they'd slowed considerably since the initial impact with the alien mine. He tried to throw himself into the task of preparing to jettison the piece of hull plating, but his heart wasn't in it—particularly not with Malcolm now pinned to that same piece of plating.

When T'Pol suggested a visit to Ensign Sato in sickbay, he was all for it. It was a distraction, and he expected it would be a productive one, too. 

*****

Out on the hull, work progressed slowly. Reed was feeling better after the hypospray Archer had given him for the pain, but he was anxious to get through this task and get back inside the ship. _If I can,_ he thought dourly. _Face facts, Malcolm. There's a very good chance you're not going to survive this one._ He was a realist, and it was realistic to believe he was going to die out here. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, of course, but in his opinion it was a strong possibility. 

_Life gives no guarantees._ It was something his father had often said while Malcolm was growing up. It was the argument he'd thrown back at his father when he'd joined Starfleet rather than the Royal Navy. He chuckled mirthlessly at the sheer irony of it being forcibly thrust in his own face now.

"Care to share what's so funny?" asked Archer. "I could use a little pick-me-up."

Reed's expression grew closed. "Just an old memory, sir," he said reluctantly. "Nothing important."

"Uh-huh." Archer didn't believe him, but he let the matter drop. He was concentrating on the detonation circuit he was disarming, gently turning each rod in whatever direction his Armory Officer instructed. "So," he said, feeling the need of conversation in the huge vacuum of space. "Tell me about you and Trip."

Malcolm was happy his captain couldn't see his expression at that moment. He was sure his wide eyes and gaping mouth were less than dignified. He tried to pull himself together before answering. A startled, "Sir?" was all he could manage.

"I'm not asking for details," Archer assured him, never taking his eyes from his work. "But I've known Trip a long time. In a lot of ways he's like a little brother to me. I think I have the right to ask what your intentions are toward him."

"Intentions?" Reed was stalling. _What are my _intentions_? Dear lord! I didn't think anyone asked that anymore!_

"Yeah. Your intentions." The captain stole a split second to glance down at the trapped lieutenant. He was too far away for Malcolm to see the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. He knew he was taking unfair advantage of the situation on several levels, but conversation helped him focus. _That's my story and I'm sticking to it,_ he thought wryly. "I figure now is as good a time as any to ask. Unless you have somewhere else to be?"

_I'd rather be anywhere else,_ thought Malcolm, _for a number of reasons._ "I think my schedule is clear," he said with just the barest hint of sarcasm.

Archer chuckled softly, eyes once again focused on the detonation circuit. "So? You certainly don't seem like the love-'em-and-leave-'em type to me, but I could be wrong."

_You haven't asked around back in San Francisco, have you?_ thought Malcolm with dark self-derision. It had never been his intention to 'love-'em-and-leave-'em,' as the captain put it, but his inability to get close to any of his partners had led to something of the sort. It had left him with rather an unfair and unfortunate reputation in certain circles.

"Lieutenant?"

Apparently Archer felt he'd been silent too long. "I'm not quite certain what to say, sir," admitted Reed. "I have no intention of leaving Commander Tucker, if that's what you're asking."

"That's good to know. I'm done with this circuit," said Archer. He watched in relief as the now disarmed circuit went dark and slid back into its casing.

"Very good." Reed was happy for the change of subject. He consulted the large scanner he held, determining which circuit to approach next. "Move two panels to your right, and release the catch at the upper left of the roundel."

The captain did as instructed and another glowing detonation circuit extended. Reed began instructing him once again. It was a different sequence to deactivate this one, and the lieutenant had the sinking feeling every one of the five detonation circuits would be distinctly different. It was going to take even longer than he'd originally anticipated.

_I hope we're done with the chit-chat,_ he thought. 

*****

As it turned out, Tucker was right about the visit to the communications officer. _Productive, but not real comforting,_ he thought.

He and T'Pol listened to Sato's rough translation of the aliens' message. "They say they've annexed this planet in the name of something called 'The Romalin Star Empire,'" the ensign said.

Tucker was vaguely familiar with the name from what little Archer had been able to tell him. T'Pol, too, recognized it.

"Romulan," she said. "It's pronounced Romulan."

Sato relayed the rest of the message and promised to have a reply ready within an hour. T'Pol nodded and rose from her seat across from the ensign. 

She and Tucker stood by the sickbay comm, and the Vulcan opened a line to the Captain. The science officer gave Archer a brief run down on the Romulans and the transmission they had sent, demanding _Enterprise_ leave the system immediately.

Trip crossed his arms and leaned tiredly against the bulkhead beside the comm panel. "How's it going out there, Captain?" he asked, hoping to hear they were almost ready to come back inside.

"We've taken two of the detonation circuits off-line," came Archer's slightly strained voice. "Three more to go. Keep me posted."

"Aye, sir." He closed the comm and exchanged a look with T'Pol. "I'm going to check on the progress my team's making on the hull plating."

"Understood," the Vulcan woman replied.

Trip pushed wearily away from the wall and headed to the exit. He gave Hoshi a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a smile he hoped was encouraging as he passed the injured ensign.

Once out in the corridor, he took a moment to collect himself. To all outward appearances, he was fine, other than his disheveled appearance and the dark circles under his eyes. The truth was he was strung tighter than a bow. He only hoped he wouldn't snap before the current crisis passed. He scrubbed rough fingers through already-tousled blond hair and let out a heavy sigh. He was dog tired, and here it was only a little past lunch time—not that he'd had a moment to eat anything.

_Hell of a lot of stuff happening in a short period of time, _he thought wearily. _I hate days like this._

He headed aft to where his team was working on the hull plating. He was wrapped up in his thoughts as he hailed the turbolift and it carried him closer to his destination.

Trip trusted Jon to do everything in his power to get Malcolm safely back inside, but it wasn't the same as doing it himself. _But he was too quick for me, like he knew what I was gonna say._ He gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. _Of course he knew what I was gonna say,_ he chided himself. 

Thinking about it now, he almost wished the captain had sent out one of the ship's security personnel. At least they were ordnance trained. _But who of them would you trust, Trip?_ he asked himself. He shook his head, again, knowing the most qualified person for the job, after Reed, was probably Cormack. In light of current events, his dislike of the ensign seemed suddenly less important.

It occurred to him he and Malcolm still hadn't had the promised discussion about her yet, either. He'd been dreading it since the end of March when he'd finally admitted his less-than-friendly feelings toward her. Now, he'd happily have that conversation any place and any time if it meant Malcolm was safe once more.

_Hell, I haven't even gotten to tell him T'Pol's crazy story about her great-grandmother crash landing in Pennsylvania. And I was looking forward to that one._

By the time he reached his destination, he'd made up his mind. He checked in with Lieutenant Hess and found everything was running as smoothly as could be expected. "All right," he said to her. "Everything's under control here, so I'm going to go check on some other repairs. Keep me posted on your progress."

"Yes, sir." She nodded returned to the EPS conduit she was re-routing. It wouldn't be long before they would be ready to release the hull plating. Tucker tried not to think of his lover and his best friend still out on that plating.

Quickly, he accessed the ship's computer and located Ensign Cormack. _Of course,_ he thought, seeing her location as the armory. He summoned a turbo lift and took it to F-deck.

The atmosphere in the armory was nearly as intense as that in Engineering. He spotted the blonde woman at the main console and descended the stairs to the lower level.

"Ensign Cormack," he said as he neared her.

Cormack started. "Commander! I didn't hear you." She turned to face him, keeping one hand resting lightly on the console. She was looking a bit worse for wear, but appeared to be unharmed. 

Trip had an uncharitable moment of wishing she was the one out there on the hull, rather than his partner. He shoved the thought aside. He didn't want Stephanie hurt; he just wanted Malcolm safe and whole.

"What can I do for you?" asked Cormack.

"You know the situation topside, right?" he asked in return.

The woman's features darkened. "Yes, sir," she said grimly.

He wasn't sure how to continue. It felt strange, almost like a betrayal, to be here checking up on his captain with an ensign—an ensign he didn't even like. "What do you think the chances are Captain Archer'll be able to disarm that mine?"

If Cormack was surprised at his query, she didn't show it. "Better than most. If it can't be Lieutenant Reed or me doing it, he'd be my next choice."

"You think you'd have a better shot?" He leapt on the information.

"I don't know. I have the training, but I've only disarmed one live explosive. Other than that, it's all been training simulations." She noted the line of tension along Tucker's jaw, the little crease between his drawn brows. "Sir?" She was hesitant to continue. The vibes she'd gotten from the engineer lately made her unusually wary. "He'll be okay. I have faith in the Captain. He won't give up."

"No. He won't," agreed Tucker grimly. _But I'm not so sure about Malcolm._ It was well he couldn't know Cormack's thoughts were an echo of his own.

"Sir?" she continued, still hesitantly. At the commander's inquiring look, she continued. "If you talk to the lieutenant If he asks Tell him we're taking good care of his systems?"

Trip had a sudden moment of realization and recognition. The tone of Cormack's voice, the concerned tilt of her head—he knew them in himself, too. She was as worried about Malcolm as he was, but knew she couldn't say so out loud. Trip nodded a little stiffly, uncomfortable with this new discovery. "I'll tell him," he said, his voice unexpectedly rough with emotion. He cleared his throat, hoping the woman hadn't noticed.

Stephanie gave him a ghost of a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

*****

"What's going on out there?" Tucker asked, helping Archer release the locks on his EV suit helmet. The captain had come back inside with only four detonation circuits off-line and Malcolm still trapped. Tucker's heart almost stopped when he heard Archer's reply.

"We're going to detach the plating."

Trip went numb. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

Even T'Pol was taken aback at the news. There was a moment's pause before she said, "I'm sure you did all you could, Captain."

But Archer cut her off. "I'm going with him." He caught Trip's gaze and held it. He was relieved to see the engineer suddenly begin breathing again. Without taking time to explain his plan, he ordered Tucker to bring two shuttlepod hatches to the airlock.

Trip was confused, but he complied. Jon obviously had a plan, whatever it was, and Trip wasn't going to argue with him with a hostile enemy vessel hanging invisibly in space somewhere nearby.

*****

The next several minutes went by in a haze for the engineer. He was trying not to think about what he was doing, what was happening. _Just focus on the next step,_ he ordered himself firmly. _Just forget that's your partner and your best friend out there._ His efforts were having only limited success.

"Hang on, fellas," he said. He released the hull plating.

Seconds ticked past where he could do nothing. He found he was holding his breath, forced himself to release it and draw in another.

Even at over 700 meters away, the explosion's shockwave buffeted the ship.

T'Pol tried hailing Archer and Reed, but there was no response.

"Maybe their transmitters were knocked out in the blast," Tucker said, willing it to be true. "Travis?"

There was a brief pause before the ensign replied. "I see them," he said, a mix of relief and tension coloring his tones. "Bearing two-one-three mark four."

It seemed to take forever, but finally they had them aboard.

"Got to warp, Ensign," T'Pol ordered the moment the launch bay doors had closed behind the rescued officers. 

Trip let out the breath he'd once again been holding. The immediate danger had passed; all that remained was to make certain the rescued men would be all right.

As soon as they were sure the Romulans weren't in pursuit, Tucker and T'Pol headed to the launch bay. Phlox met them at the door, and the three hurried inside.

Trip's relief at seeing the rescued officers was tempered by the metal spike that protruded from his lover's left thigh. Archer was supporting Reed in a sitting position on the launch bay floor. The heavier pieces of both men's EV suits lay in a discarded heap nearby. Phlox knelt next to the injured man, medical scanner humming as he examined his leg. T'Pol stood to one side behind the Denobulan. Trip took the next closest spot to the armory officer; he knelt at Malcolm's feet. At least here he could see his partner's face clearly and still be out of the doctor's way. 

He gave Malcolm an encouraging smile. He was afraid to speak, afraid his emotions might burst through in an unseemly display that would have made everyone uncomfortable. He wouldn't have minded so much for himself, but he didn't want to do that to Malcolm. The dark-haired man had enough to deal with at the moment.

"We need to get you to surgery," Phlox told the lieutenant. "There's a litter on the way."

As he spoke, the door opened again and two med-techs entered with an anti-grav gurney. Trip reluctantly stepped aside so they could transfer Reed onto it. As soon as they were done, however, he moved to Malcolm's side and took his hand.

"It's all right," Malcolm said softly, reassuringly. "I'll be fine now."

"How many times do I have to tell you people to stop your self-diagnoses?" said Phlox amiably, although his light tone was laced with concern. "It's a strange habit humans seem to have." To his med-techs, he said, "Let's go."

Archer and T'Pol remained behind as the lieutenant was taken away. Tucker had other plans. The door was too narrow for him to remain at Reed's side as they passed through, but that didn't stop him staying close by as they made their way to sickbay. Once there, however, his intentions were thwarted.

"You'll have to stay outside," Phlox said gently but firmly when they reached the surgery. "You can wait for him in recovery if you like."

Things had calmed down in the medical bay since the explosion that morning. Phlox and his team had had a very busy day, but one by one the injured had been treated and released. Only the few worst cases were still there, sedated and resting quietly. Trip nodded mutely and immediately went to the smaller side room where those patients now slept.

That was where Archer found him an hour later. Divested of his EV suit and back in his uniform, the tired captain pulled up a chair and sat next to his friend.

"How are you?" he asked kindly.

Tucker didn't know how to respond. Wasn't this supposed to be the other way around? his mind wondered. Wasn't he supposed to be doing the comforting? Asking the solicitous questions? He looked at Jon in confusion, his thoughts spinning.

"Trip?" Archer's expression turned worried. "What's wrong?" He reached out a hand and placed it reassuringly on Tucker's shoulder. "Trip?" A little more anxiously. "_Trip?_"

"I almost lost him," the younger man said softly. "I almost lost you both." It was just above a whisper, but the words came clearly to Archer's ears.

"I wasn't going to let that happen."

"I thought When you said" He remembered the split second in which he'd thought Jon was going to cut Malcolm loose.

"Trip." There was a hint of command underlying Archer's tone. "I wasn't going to let that happen," he repeated firmly. "I wasn't going to let Malcolm die out there." He felt it best to keep his knowledge of Reed's own beliefs on the matter to himself. _Prepared to die, my ass,_ the captain thought a little angrily, remembering the armory officer's words. _Not on my watch, and not when you mean so much to Trip._

Trip said nothing more. He could barely formulate coherent thought at that moment; coherent speech was well beyond him. He stared straight ahead as if mesmerized.

"Look at me," said Archer. "Commander!" Tucker started and turned to look at his C.O. "Commander, report," the Captain ordered. It was the only thing he could think of that might snap his old friend out of the heavy funk that had fallen upon him.

Instinctively, Tucker sat up straight, eyes locked on a point in space directly in front of him. "Sir. Extensive damage to eight sub-sections of C and D decks. Emergency bulkheads holding and repairs proceeding. Large section of outer hull missing in starboard upper aft quadrant. Warp and impulse engines in fair condition. Repairs to EPS grid proceeding. Eighteen injured reported." It was all rattled off automatically and in one breath, but here his breath caught. "None dead."

"At ease, Commander," Archer said gently now.

Trip no longer sat ram-rod straight, but his shoulders and back were still stiff. He continued to stare straight ahead, lips pressed tightly together, hands resting on his lap. He looked to Jon as if he were holding his breath.

Then Archer understood. "It's all right," he said softly. "He safe now. We're all safe now."

At Jon's quiet words, Trip's shoulders slumped and he started to shake. Jon put an arm around his old friend, and Trip leaned against him. Silent tears spilled down the blond man's cheeks and onto the captain's strong shoulder. Jon said nothing, letting him cry out his relief, his fear, and all the tension the day had brought.

Phlox entered the recovery area quietly and noted the scene before him with a compassionate eye. He caught Archer's gaze with his own, and returned the captain's inquisitive look with a smile and a nod. Archer gave a small nod in return, and the doctor withdrew.

"Hey," said Jon softly, giving Trip a gentle squeeze with the arm that still encircled the younger man's shoulders. "Why don't we go see Malcolm."

Tucker sat up and looked at him. "He's?" He couldn't finish.

"He's out of surgery. Phlox says he'll be fine." It didn't matter the physician hadn't actually _said_ it; it was clearly his meaning when he'd smiled. "You might want to clean yourself up a little," teased Jon, looking at Trip's tear-streaked face and generally disheveled appearance.

"Malcolm'll never know. He's probably out cold," argued Trip dully. But he wiped his face with a sleeve and tried to tame his wild hair a little anyway. "Better?"

Jon couldn't help but smile. "No," he answered honestly. "But I'm sure Malcolm will forgive you."

"You don't know what a neat freak he is."

At this, Archer chuckled. If Trip was cracking jokes again, it was a good sign. "Let's go see him." They rose and entered sickbay proper.

The heavy plastic screens were hanging around Reed's biobed, separating him from the rest of the room. He wouldn't be moved to recovery until the anesthetics wore off and Phlox was sure he no longer needed constant monitoring.

Trip moved immediately to his bedside and took the sleeping man's hand in his own. He looked lovingly down at his partner's face. "He really gonna be okay, doc?" he asked Phlox without looking up.

"He'll be fine," the Denobulan reassured him. "He's a very lucky individual."

Tucker didn't argue, although he felt the doctor was wrong. _I'm the lucky one,_ he thought, gently stroking Malcolm's dark hair with his free hand.

Behind him, he didn't see the silent exchange that passed between Archer and Phlox. He didn't even notice as the pair slipped away, leaving him alone with his sleeping lover.

*****  
End Log 2:3  
_(Completed 9 Oct 02)_

Continued in Log 2:4


	4. Log 2:4

**Log Rhythms: Season Two  
**By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:4**: (Takes place immediately preceding and during _Dead Stop_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Her footsteps echoed hollowly in the dark corridor. As she walked, her left boot squeaked on the metal floor with every other step. The only other sound was her own breathing.

She walked slowly, unable to see more than a foot or two ahead of her. Metal walls towered into unknown heights. Portraits hung on either side of the hallway, and what little light there was seemed to emanate from the framed images. She glanced to one side, then the other. She didn't recognize the men in either picture, although they seemed vaguely familiar somehow. At first glance, she thought they were the same person, dressed identically as they were in long-sleeved red shirts with black collars. She peered closely at the one on her right, noticed the odd insignia on the left breast of his shirt.

_A uniform?_ she wondered. She continued forward. As she left the pair of pictures behind they darkened and went out. At the same moment another pair light up dimly. Their light grew as she approached them. This time it was a man and a woman. The man looked much like the two before, his dark hair neatly slicked back. The woman was beautiful, with dark eyes in a sweet young face and rich brown hair piled in a highly improbable fashion atop her head. She, too, was in red, though her insignia was slightly different than the others', and she held a black box on a long strap in front of her.

_Scanning equipment?_ The woman eyeing the picture shook her head in puzzlement and continued on.

Pair after pair of portraits stared down at her. Most of them were men, but occasionally a woman would look back at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Strangely, the women were all in soft focus.

Abruptly, the pictures changed. The ornate frames were gone, replaced by slick, bright silver ones.

_That's different,_ she thought, looking at the first of these. It was a picture of a young blonde woman in gold and black. Bright blue eyes peered out of her attractive, sharp-featured face, and her arms were crossed. An insignia on her chest resembled the ones on the red-shirted people of the previous pictures, but this time it appeared to be jewelry rather than a sewn-on patch.

Turning to her right, she saw a young black man with a narrow, pleasant face. While he was dressed similarly to the woman on her left, where her uniform was gold, his was once again red. 

_Weird,_ she thought. She glanced back and forth from one to the other, looking for something she might use to identify them. 

Then it struck her. The small, round, golden pips on their collars were rank insignia. The woman was a lieutenant, the man an ensign. _Starfleet? Butno._ She continued to walk.

Pair after pair after pair of faces watched her passage down the seemingly endless hallway. She got the feeling the walls were curving, but with no point of reference it was impossible to tell.

Then abruptly, the pictures changed once again. Here was a single portrait of three men in white spacesuits. _I _know_ I know who they are._ But try as she might, she couldn't place them. 

She walked on. A simple black wooden frame held the image of a man in a bulky orange spacesuit. She turned, expecting to find another picture to complete the pair, but there was nothing. _Why is he alone?_ she wondered.

And on. Another trio of men sat in a crowded cockpit. They were dressed in nondescript blue-gray flightsuits, each capped with a form-fitting white skullcap with built in communications equipment. All of them were smiling.

And on. A larger group faced her. Here were seven people in blue flightsuits, the most prominent person a woman of about 40 with dark curly hair and a bright smile.

And on.

Andstopped. This face she knew. Brown eyes alight, grin wide and cheerful, dark blue uniform with a single rank insignia on the right side.

_Travis!?_

* * *

Cormack awoke with a start, her heart pounding. Her bunkmate was looking down at her with concerned eyes.

"Are you okay?" Liz asked. "You were talking in your sleep."

"Huh? Yeah." It took several moments for Stephanie to orient herself. She was in her bunk, the covers twisted and tangled around her. The small light over Cutler's bed was on. "Did you?" she began, not quite coherent enough to complete the thought.

"You sort of scared me with what you were saying. Are you okay?" she asked again.

"Yeah. I guess so. Yeah," Stephanie repeated. She leaned on her hands and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Liz sat down on the edge of the bunk and looked at her closely. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." It was more definite this time. 

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't really remember. I think I was in a museum—or an art gallery. There were pictures of people."

"Paintings?"

"More like photographs. But I can't remember who any of them were." Her slowly clearing mind caught something Liz had said earlier. "What was I saying?" Stephanie asked suddenly.

"What?"

"What was I saying that freaked you out?"

"Just the same thing over and over again," replied Liz hesitantly.

"And that was?"

"You kept repeating, 'They're dead. They're all dead.'"

"Weird. Maybe it was the National Portrait Gallery in London, eh? With pictures of all those dead monarchs and whatnot. What time is it?"

Both women looked at the chronometer and at the same time said, "0330."

"Bugger. Sorry I woke you up," said Cormack. She yawned, sparking the same action in her roommate.

"It's okay," Liz replied through her yawn. She rose and moved back to her own bunk. "I don't think either of us will have much trouble getting back to sleep." She laid down and pulled the covers over herself. "Ready for me to turn out the light?"

"Hang on." Cormack got out of her bunk, straightened out her bright pink pajamas, and then dealt with the tangled bedclothes. She was about to get back in when something occurred to her. "Be right back." She ducked into the lav and shut the door. 

When she emerged a minute later, Liz was sitting on the edge of her bunk, waiting.

"What?" asked Stephanie.

"Power of suggestion," said Liz in mock annoyance. She disappeared into the lav, and a chuckling Cormack climbed into bed.

It wasn't long before Cutler returned, closing lav the door behind her. She settled into her bunk once more. "Ready?" she asked again.

"Yeah."

Liz shut off the small bed-side lamp.

Minutes passed in silence. Before long, Cutler's soft, even breathing told Cormack she was asleep. Stephanie continued to lie awake, staring at the ceiling over her bunk. She knew she should remember who was in the pictures in her dream, but she couldn't. Try as she might, the knowledge stayed frustratingly just out of reach.

With a resigned sigh, she gave up. She rolled over and looked at the chronometer. _0423. Great. Just enough time to fall asleep before I have to wake up again._

*****

"You're killing me!" exclaimed Lieutenant Reed in a strained voice.

Out of sight on the other side of sickbay, Cutler had to bite back a chuckle. She was working on inventorying the medical supplies, and had been privy to many such outbursts by the lieutenant over the last four days. 

"It can't be ethical to cause a patient this much pain!" Reed continued once he'd been released from the torture of his physical therapy.

"It's unethical to _harm_ a patient," Cutler heard Phlox reply pleasantly. "I can inflict as much pain as I like."

_Good one, Phlox,_ she thought amusedly. _Serves the lieutenant right for all the complaining he's done._ She knew it wasn't entirely fair, but Reed had hardly been a model patient. 

It was a good thing Malcolm didn't know what she was thinking. _Enterprise_'s Armory Officer knew he wasn't taking his therapy well; he didn't need to be reminded of it. The occasional jibe by the ship's physician helped keep him from feeling too sorry for himself, but the therapy was a painful and tedious process. Reed liked instant gratification. Phlox's prediction that it might be another two weeks before he could return to duty was maddening.

"The wound might heal faster if you'd allow me to apply a few more Regulan Blood Worms," Phlox suggested.

"Oh, you're not putting any more of those things inside my leg. You still haven't found the last one," Malcolm reminded him accusingly.

"He'll come out on his own," the doctor reassured him. "Eventually."

Reed made a disgusted sound. Again, the concealed Cutler fought hard not to laugh. _I shouldn't be listening,_ she scolded herself firmly. _Not that I can help it really,_ her minded added, trying to justify her actions. _It's not like they're keeping their voices down. But still_ She resolved to try harder not to listen.

"It's bad enough my leg was perforated by an alien mine. All this" Reed continued, gesturing at the biobed, Phlox's monitors, the doctor himself, "isn't making my life any easier."

"Physical therapy isn't about making things easy, Lieutenant. It's about healing properly so you can resume your duties unimpaired."

"Just give me my pants, please," said the lieutenant in a weary tone. Phlox handed them over and offered an arm to lean on while he put them on. Malcolm didn't like accepting the help, but it meant he could get dressed and out of there more quickly. It was just another fact of life as it now stood that annoyed him. "Thanks," he muttered. He did up his pants and sat once more to pull on his socks and shoes. It was another difficult activity, but one which he could perform sitting down and, as a result, without aid.

Once he was fully dressed he rose again, trying to put as little weight on his healing leg as possible.

"Don't forget this," said Phlox, holding out a lightweight metal cane.

Malcolm took it reluctantly. He hated needing its support, but he couldn't deny there was no way he would make it back to his quarters without it. "Thanks," he said again. He limped out of sickbay, hoping he wouldn't meet too many people before reaching his cabin.

It was shortly after he'd arrived in his quarters that he felt a change in the ship. "We've gone to warp," he muttered. He'd just sat down on his bunk, but he forced himself to rise again and cross to the computer terminal. He sat once more, leaning the hated cane against the desk, and called up the mission status. "Repair station?" He input a search that returned almost immediately with nothing. "Splendid."

This far from home, there were bound to be limited options when it came to repairs. _Especially repairs as major as we need right now,_ his mind added. That didn't stop him being mildly annoyed. It seemed once again the captain was taking too much on faith. _Or rather,_ he thought, eyes skimming the screen, _too much on the word of a Tellarite freighter captain. Honestly. Do we even know what the Tellarites _look_ like, never mind their political leanings?_ A quick search of the Vulcan database gave him answers to both.

"Hm," he said when he saw the image recorded there. "I've seen worse, I suppose." He read down the screen. "'Generally trustworthy.' Not much of an endorsement, if you ask me."

He ran another search, this time on the current location of Commander Tucker. He found him on the bridge. "Good. He'll know if T'Pol had more to say when the communication came through." The doctor may have taken Malcolm off duty, but that didn't stop the Armory Officer wanting to keep abreast of what was going on.

*****

"So we're just going to go there and trust it's safe?"

"Malcolm, what choice do we have?" Trip was a little tired of the argument. He'd been more than happy to stop by Malcolm's quarters and update him on what was going on; he knew Reed didn't like being out of the loop, and he saw no reason not to keep him informed on ship's operations. But this was something else. There seemed to be nothing he could say that would allay his partner's concerns on the matter of the alien repair station. "Our hull's got a lot of holes in it, you know. We're _years_ away from Jupiter Station unless we can patch them all up. We've got short-range communication only. As far as we can tell there's not a Vulcan ship within light-years, and d'you really want to ask for their help?"

"So the Captain will take help from an unknown alien on the word of another vaguely familiar alien rather than go to the Vulcans?" countered Reed.

"That's not what I said and you know it. Besides, I just told you there aren't any Vulcan ships in range. What's gotten into you, anyway?" Now Trip was concerned, too, but not about the mission. While it was like Malcolm to privately question the captain's methods, he was being particularly argumentative this afternoon. "Is everything okay?"

"Does it look like everything's okay?" Reed shot back angrily. "We're practically defenseless in deep space and now we're flying blindly into what could easily be a trap!"

"And you're mad because there's nothing you can do about it," Tucker added.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. It's obvious. Malcolm, I know you're going stir-crazy in here. Why don't you get out for a while? The only thing you've done for five days is sit here reading technical journals and then fret over the fact that you're just sitting here reading technical journals!"

"What do you expect me to do? I'm relieved of duty until Phlox says otherwise. And it isn't as if I can go to the gym and work out."

"And those are two of your top three favorite things to do," teased Trip. When Malcolm made no response, he tried again. "There's a whole database of movies and books."

"I suppose. But nothing appeals. There's really precious little entertainment on this ship when you think about it."

"I'm not entertaining enough?" quipped Trip, trying to pull his lover out of the pity party he'd thrown for himself. "After all, I'm the missing item on your top three list, right?"

"You're busy with the repairs. I hardly see you." 

Malcolm was beginning to sound like a petulant child, and Tucker didn't like it. "Malcolm, I'm sorry you're bored. I'm sorry you're antsy. But there's nothing more I can do about it than I'm already doing," the engineer said firmly. "I wish I could make everything better, but if the doc can't, _I_ sure can't. I don't know what else you want me to do." 

Malcolm sighed heavily. He was being a brat, and he knew it. He hated being sick. _Worse. Not sick, but not well,_ he thought irritably. _If I were sick, I wouldn't care if I were bored._ "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I know there's nothing you can do."

"Listen," said Trip, moved by the frustrated and weary tone of his partner's voice. "I have to check up on some repair reports with the captain. You want me to come by afterwards? Bring you some dinner? Maybe keep you company tonight? I know we're a little limited in recreational activities with you all banged up and all" His tone and the salacious look he gave Malcolm clearly showed what sort of 'recreational activities' he meant. "but I can think of a few things that ought to take your mind off your troubles for a little while at least."

Malcolm gave him a coy smile. "That'd be better than any movie in _Enterprise_'s database," he said.

"Yeah," agreed Tucker casually. "'Cause there's no gay porn in the database. I checked." Malcolm burst out laughing, and Trip grinned. "Made you laugh," the younger man said.

"Yes, you did. Thanks."

"Anytime." Trip rose from his seat on Malcolm's bunk. Reed tried to rise, too, but Tucker stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't get up. It's not worth the effort. I'll be back around 1900, okay?"

"Okay."

Tucker leaned over and gave Malcolm a quick kiss. At least that was his plan. Instead, the smaller man caught the back of his head, pulling him close into a passionate, breath-stealing kiss. When Malcolm finally released him, Trip was momentarily stunned.

Malcolm smiled sweetly, waiting.

When the engineer finally regained his wits, he said, "You gotta stop doing that right before I'm supposed to meet with the Captain! He's gonna think I'm getting stupid if every time I see him I have this idiot grin on my face."

"I think it's quite fetching, myself."

"You're not my C.O."

"I could be. Not tonight, but when I'm feeling better"

Tucker's eyes widened. "You don't mean like Starfleet, do you?" Reed shook his head ever so slightly. "I didn't think so." He pondered the possibilities. "That could be fun," he said after some thought. Suddenly the lascivious smirk that had begun to turn up one corner of his lips changed abruptly into an exasperated frown. "Great! Now I have to go see the Captain with an idiot grin and an erection! Thanks, Malcolm."

His dark-haired lover laughed again. "Think about something else. Like all the repairs still to do."

"Yeah," replied Trip, feeling his excitement fade. "That's a real mood-killer. All right, this time I'm really leaving. I'll see you at 1900."

"I look forward to it. While you ponder repairs, I'll ponder all the lovely things I'm going to do to you when I'm feeling 100% again."

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut. "Repairs, repairs, repairs," he repeated like a mantra. Malcolm continued to chuckle. Without looking his way, the engineer pointed an accusing finger at his lover. "You just be quiet. Repairs, repairs" He opened one eye enough to find the door and promptly escaped into the corridor still muttering. "Repairs, repairs"

Still Malcolm laughed—until it occurred to him that pondering all the delicious activities he wanted to do with his partner was hardly going to make the day any easier. He'd intended to torment Trip with his suggestions, but his plan had backfired.

_How long is it until 1900?_ he wondered, glancing at the bedside chronometer. He sighed heavily, realizing it would be a long time before Trip returned.

He tried thinking about the repairs to calm his libido, as Trip had. Unfortunately that only brought to mind visions of the engineer—dirty, sweaty, hair mussed 

_Damn. It's going to be a very long afternoon._

*****

Cormack made herself comfortable on the couch in Dr. Douglas's office. "Thanks for fitting me in, Kyrin."

"It's no trouble," the ship's counselor answered amiably. "To be perfectly honest, my job's been a little dull lately. While I'm pleased the crew is psychologically healthy, it's nice to have something to do besides write my research paper."

Stephanie laughed. "I suppose it's tough when you're not getting any new research materials, eh?"

"Exactly. Now, what's the problem? You said something about a dream when you contacted me."

"Yeah. It was very surreal, and I'm not sure why it's still bugging me, but it is."

"Did you only have it once, or is it recurring like the last one?"

"Just once so far. Night before last. Liz woke me up from it, and I think I'm glad."

"Tell me about it."

Cormack recounted her dream of the portraits in as much detail as she could recall. The counselor took notes as she spoke.

"And that's when your bunkmate woke you?" Douglas asked when she finished.

"Yeah. She said I was talking in my sleep."

"That's new."

"I know," agreed Stephanie. "I don't think I've ever done that before."

"Did she tell you what you were saying?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm glad she woke me up. She said I was saying, 'They're dead. They're all dead.'" She shuddered at the memory.

"Who do you think you were talking about?"

"Well it's got to be the people in the pictures, right? I mean, there wasn't anyone else there. Damn! I wish I could remember who they were!"

"Did you actually recognize individuals?" Kyrin asked. "You said a moment ago they were familiar, but not that you knew them."

"I'm not sure." She gave a frustrated sigh. "Not a lot to go on, is it?"

"Don't worry. I'll do some research and see what I can come up with, okay?"

"Cool."

"In the meantime, and since you're here," the psychiatrist continued, "is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Cormack considered carefully before answering. "Yeah. Um This is going to sound paranoid, though."

"Oh?"

"It's not the sort of thing I usually think about. I mean, I'm not normally insecure about this sort of thing, so it's not something that generally occurs to me, you know?"

"What isn't?" asked Douglas.

"I think Commander Tucker doesn't like me very much."

"What gives you that impression?"

"Lots of things, now that I've noticed at all. Really, I don't usually worry about whether or not someone likes me. But this is different."

"Tell me."

*****

The door chimed, startling Malcolm from an unintended nap. He sat up gingerly, not wanting to jar his leg, and checked the time. 1835, the chronometer read. He wasn't expecting Trip for another half hour. Puzzled, he called out, "Who is it?"

"It's Ensign Cormack, sir," came the reply.

"Hang on." He briefly considered rising to answer the door, but thought better of it and remained where he was. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping he didn't look as if he'd just woken up. "Come in."

The door opened and Cormack stepped inside. One glance from her and Malcolm knew his hopes were in vain. "I'm sorry! Did I wake you?" the ensign asked solicitously.

"It's all right," he assured her.

"No, I'm sorry. I should go." She turned to leave.

"Ensign." Cormack stopped. "You don't need to go. I assume you had a reason for dropping by?"

"Couple of things," she confirmed. She pulled a datapad from a pocket and handed it to him. "Status report. I know you're off duty, but I also know you'd rather not be. So here's an update on everything going on in the armory."

He glanced at the pad and smiled. "Thank you. It's good to know some people understand. Have a seat?"

"Thanks," said Cormack. She grabbed the chair at the computer desk and sat backward in it, facing him. She leaned her arms on the back. It was a pose that reminded Reed of Tucker; the engineer often sat there just like that. "I'm sure others understand," Cormack continued, unaware of his internal comparison. "They just have other stuff on their minds. I, on the other hand, am hip deep your job so I've got nothing else going on to distract me."

"Only hip deep? You don't have enough to do."

"Not true!" protested Stephanie. "I'd be up to my eyeballs if Young and I weren't both covering your position."

"Hmm. I won't give you extra homework then," quipped Malcolm, chuckling. "It looks like you two are handling it well enough," he continued, examining the data on the pad.

"Thank you, but I'm looking forward to having you back on duty."

"As am I." Finally, he looked away from the pad long enough to ask, "You said there were a couple of reasons you stopped by?"

"Yes!" answered Stephanie. "I almost forgot." She unzipped a sleeve pocket and pulled out a clear data card. She rose half way in order to hand it to him.

He reached out and took the card from her. "What's this?" he asked.

"Something from my personal music collection. I made a copy just for you, and I'd appreciate it if it didn't get loaded into the ship's database."

"Of course not, but what is it?"

"Daughters of Lear." Malcolm's eyes widened at this information. "I know, I know. I said there weren't any official recordings available. There aren't. This was a demo we cut in Lynn's garage. Cliché I know, but what can you do?" she added with a self-deprecating smirk. "Be warned—it's rough. No fancy sound equipment was harmed in the production of this recording," she quipped dryly.

"I can't wait to hear it," said Reed sincerely. "Will you put it on for me?" he asked, passing the card back to her. Seeing her hesitation, he added, "Please?"

"I don't know. I can listen to it, but I don't know if I can listen to it with _you_ listening to it."

"I've heard some of it before," he reminded her. "Remember the documentary?"

"Gods! How could I forget?" They both laughed. "All right," she finally caved. Cormack turned around enough to slide the card into the computer. Moments later, music filled the room. "The volume okay?" she asked her host.

"Well, I usually prefer my Wiccan Punk quite loud, but that would put a damper on conversation," joked Reed. "It's fine."

"Okay. So, how are you doing otherwise?"

"Otherwise? Other than being half out of my mind from boredom, you mean?"

"Yeah. I figured that was a given, eh?" Cormack said with a chuckle. "I remember the last day we spent in quarantine."

"Ah. Yes." He gave her a wry smile. "I seem to recall that day as well."

The door chimed again at that moment, immediately followed by Trip's voice. "Hey, Malcolm, can you let me in? My hands are kind of full."

"Hang on," called Malcolm in reply. He reached for the cane he'd left nearby, but Cormack waved him off.

"I got it," she said, rising. She opened the door and stepped to the side to allow Commander Tucker to enter. "Evening, Commander. Here. Let me give you a hand." She took the tray he held and carefully placed it on the desk. She could feel the warmth coming off the two covered plates on the tray.

"Uhthanks," said Trip. He stopped just inside the room, taken aback at her unexpected presence. _What the hell's _she_ doin' here?_ he wondered.

As if he knew the engineer's thoughts, Malcolm spoke up. "Ensign Cormack was just dropping off a status report." He held up the datapad as evidence.

"And I was just leaving," the blonde woman added. It was obvious to her the commander wasn't happy to see her. She felt a judicious exit was in order. "Glad you're feeling better, Lieutenant. I can't wait for you to be back in the armory."

"Agreed. Thanks for the report, and the recording. I'll return it when I'm done listening to it."

"No, no! It's yours," insisted Stephanie. "I made that copy for you. Just don't let it get around, eh? Gods only know what Mae or Liz would do with it."

"I won't. See you later."

"See you." She gave Malcolm a smile, which he returned. "Good night, Commander," she added with another smile to Tucker. 

"Night," was his brief reply.

There was an awkward silence after the cabin door shut behind her. Malcolm broke it. "What do we have for dinner?" he asked.

"Fettuccini Alfredo," answered Trip, not moving from where he stood.

Malcolm levered himself to a standing position and laboriously limped the few feet to the desk, where he sat heavily. Trip never moved to help him.

"It smells delicious," the dark-haired man said, picking up the cover of one plate enough to take a sniff. "Are you going to join me? Or do you intend to continue your impersonation of a stone pillar?"

"What was Cormack doing here?" the engineer said by way of an answer.

"I told you. She brought me a report. It's on the bunk if you want to take a look at it," he added. He placed the cover back over the tray of food.

"And a recording?"

"It's playing now. Something not in the ship's database. I can turn it off if you don't like it."

"What is it?"

"A group called Daughters of Lear. What do you think of it?"

"I don't know."

"Listen to it for a moment."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to. Please." He turned it up slightly.

Trip listened to the music for several bars. "I can't hardly make out the lyrics," he commented. Malcolm made no reply, and they continued to listen together in silence. "It's not a real clean recording, is it?"

"It's not studio quality, no," confirmed Reed.

"I suppose it's okay," Tucker finally begrudged. "Not really my thing, though."

"All right. I'll listen to it later when you're not here." He shut off the recording but left the card where it was.

"So, Ensign Cormack gave it to you?"

"She did."

"If it's not in the database, then it's something of hers, right?" Trip asked, a hint of accusation in his voice.

"Why does it matter?" countered Malcolm, responding more to the tone of his lover's query than the words. Something about Trip's question begged him to be quarrelsome.

"Huh?"

"Why does it matter where it came from?"

"I don't" He trailed off.

"Don't what, Trip? I know you don't like Stephanie, although I have yet to learn why that is. Perhaps now is a good time to discuss it."

It was the conversation Tucker had been dreading. He stood in stony silence.

"Well? What is it about her that bothers you so much?" Reed asked. He wanted to stand up, confront his partner on a more equal footing, more eye to eye. He decided it was worth the effort and the pain. He rose, keeping his weight balanced on his good leg and the desk. "Tell me what's going on inside that head of yours, because I can't suss out what you're thinking on my own."

"I just don't like her!" blurted Tucker angrily.

"Yes, I think we've established that," said Reed acerbically. "Would you care to expand on that theme?"

"Not really, no."

"Let me try, then. Perhaps I _can_ shed light on this little mystery. What might it be? Her outgoing personality? Her easygoing way with people? Her incredible competence at her job? Hmm. Those sound a lot like qualities I could ascribe to someone else I know." He glared at Trip pointedly.

"Hell. Opposites attract, right?" the younger man offered lamely. "So maybe we're just too much alike to get along."

"I don't believe that for a millisecond, and I'm willing to bet you don't either." He took a shaky step towards Trip, one hand still supported by the desk. "So what's going on?" he demanded.

"Why is it so important to you that I like her?" argued Trip defensively.

"Why? Why is it important that the man I love get along with my best friend? Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Call me old-fashioned, but I like the people I care about to care about each other, or at the very least be civil to one another!"

The closed expression on Trip's face made Malcolm pause.

"That's the problem, isn't it? You're jealous that she's my friend."

Still Tucker said nothing.

"It's true, isn't it? My god, Trip!" he spat, anger and hurt mixing in his voice. "Aren't I allowed to have one friend, then?"

"Malcolm, that's not what"

"What? Spit it out. That's not what you were going to say? That's not what you meant? What _do_ you mean?" Reed took another step toward his lover. He was irate enough to have forgotten the pain in his injured leg, and he foolishly put his full weight on it when he moved. "Gaah!" he cried out as the limb gave way painfully.

Trip caught him instinctively before he could fall. As soon as Malcolm regained his balance, he pushed the blond man away. "I'm fine," he said angrily.

"Let me help you."

"I said I'm fine." He limped slowly to his bunk, wincing with every tortuous step.

"Malcolm, please," Trip tried again, reaching out to give him the extra support he clearly needed.

"No!" Reed made it to the bunk and sat. The strain of the effort showed in his drawn and pale expression.

Tucker looked at him, worried. "Should I call the doc?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," repeated his partner more quietly this time. "I'm tired of being drugged up on painkillers. I'll be fine in a minute."

This time, as the silence grew between them, Malcolm felt disinclined to break it. He couldn't make the engineer talk if he was determined not to. It was up to Trip now.

Minutes passed without either man moving or speaking. At last, Trip took a tentative step toward Malcolm and sat gingerly on the bunk beside him. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

Reed simply waited in silence.

"Of course you can have friends," continued the younger man.

_One friend,_ Malcolm corrected internally, but kept silent. _I have one real friend on board besides you._

"As if it was even my decision," Trip added, chagrined. "I never meant to suggest you couldn't have friends. I'm not usually the jealous type." At Malcolm's doubtful look, he gave a rueful shrug. "Really. She justrubs me the wrong way."

"How? What has she done?"

"Nothing. Nothing on purpose," he amended. "Sheshe makes you laugh."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea my happiness was a problem for you," snapped Reed bitterly.

"Malcolm, stop," entreated Trip. "You asked. I'm trying to answer, okay?"

"Okay. Go on."

Tucker thought hard, trying to come up with words to express what was going on inside his head, as Malcolm had put it. "I guess I just don't like sharing you. That's all."

"I don't understand. Sharing me?"

"You see her on duty. You have meals with her off duty. You hang out together when I'm not around. I'm not saying you should sit around pining for me," he added hastily in anticipation of an argument. "I guess I don't know what I'm saying."

"She's only ever tried to help you and me, you know," Malcolm pointed out. "I don't necessarily agree with all her methods, but she's always meant well."

"Has she?"

"Of course she has!" Reed was genuinely surprised by the question. "Why else would she do what she's done?"

"I don't know. Maybemaybe she has her own reasons."

"Trip, she's my _friend_," Malcolm said emphatically. "I _trust_ her."

"I don't!" Trip said just as emphatically. "I justwonder what her motives are."

"Motives? That's an awfully paranoid thing to say. I thought I was supposed to be the suspicious type, not you." A thought occurred the armory officer. "Do you think she's some sort of threat? Is _that_ it?"

He'd struck the heart of the matter, and he could see it in his lover's face before Trip said a word.

"What? No!" protested Tucker too vehemently.

"Trip, how can you possibly believe that? She's not interested in me like that, I can assure you. And I most decidedly _do not_ fancy her!" 

"No?" queried the younger man doubtfully.

"No!" Malcolm gave him a wry look. "I thought you'd figured out by now that I prefer men. And one handsome blond engineer in particular."

"I know that, I just—" He couldn't complete the thought, didn't know how to complete it.

"Trip." Malcolm placed a warm, strong hand on his lover's thigh, used the other hand to draw Trip's face around to meet his gaze. "I love you. I'm not good at saying it, but I do love you. I don't understand where this whole problem between you and Stephanie started, and I understand it's not going to go away overnight. But whatever else goes on, please don't ever forget that."

Faced by Malcolm's concerned look and tender words, Trip could only nod weakly. It was enough for Malcolm. _My god,_ thought the armory officer, looking into his lover's sweet face and clear blue eyes. _How could I ever have thought I was prepared to die when I have this man to live for?_ He made a mental note to thank the captain yet again for saving his life less than a week ago.

The two sat that way for some time before Malcolm finally spoke. "Come on," he said. "I'm famished. Help me to the table so we can have dinner."

"Nope," said Trip. "You stay here. It's not as romantic as breakfast, but how 'bout I bring you dinner in bed?"

"That sounds lovely," said Malcolm with a smile.

*****  
End Log 2:4  
_(Completed 16 Oct 02)_

Continued in Log 2.5


	5. Log 2:5

**Log Rhythms: Season Two  
**By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:5**: (Takes place during and immediately following _Dead Stop_ and preceding and following _A Night in Sickbay_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Cormack was on her way to the mess hall for a midnight snack. She'd heard a rumor there were monster-sized chocolate chip peanut butter cookies, and she felt it was her duty to find out if the rumor was true. With glee, she discovered it was. She picked one off the tray, grabbed a napkin, and went for a stroll.

Stephanie wasn't terribly inclined to return to her cabin. She meandered aimlessly along the corridors of E-deck, idly munching her cookie. At this late hour there were precious few people about, and she met no one as she walked. 

She knew eventually she'd have to go to bed but was delaying it as long as reasonably possible. The strange dream she'd had earlier in the week had returned last night. While she could recall no more about it than she'd already recounted to the ship's counselor, the dream had left her with a feeling of unease bordering on dread. She had no desire to experience it again.

Rounding a corner near the launch bays, she paused. _Crap,_ she thought. _Is this section still off limits?_ She couldn't quite remember. The crew had been ordered to stay out of the areas being repaired by the space station where they were presently docked. The launch bays were on the list for this evening, but she couldn't recall the time span during which they were out of bounds.

Out of the corner of one eye she saw movement. Turning quickly, she was just able to see someone in uniform enter Launch Bay One. Cormack gave a relieved sigh. _Must be okay._

She popped the last bite of her snack in her mouth, wiped her fingers on the napkin, then pocketed it for later disposal. She was about to continue her ramble when she heard a noise from the direction of the launch bay. Curious, Cormack approached it and entered.

Her eyes widened at the sight before her. She rushed to the fallen figure of Ensign Mayweather, placed a hand on his neck, searching for a pulse.

"Oh Goddess," she whispered. She rose again quickly and, carefully avoiding the burned out EPS relay next to her, crossed to the comm panel on the opposite wall. "Cormack to Sickbay. Medical emergency in Launch Bay One."

*****

_Stupid git,_ Reed berated himself in silence. _What's the first thing you do when you're finally healed up and back on duty? Go spying about the space station that was generous enough to provide the treatment. Excellent way to repay the hospitality._

"So?" said Tucker as the lift descended.

"So, what?" replied Reed tersely. Caught up in his own thoughts, he'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

"So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About what the Captain said."

"I think we're in trouble."

"But he wasn't real specific about the punishment, if you know what I mean."

Reed looked at Tucker. "'You're both restricted to quarters until further notice,'" he quoted in an excellent imitation of Archer's San Franciscan accent. "Hmm," he continued in his own voice, "yes, I see how that might be misinterpreted." His sarcastic tone belied his words. In truth, he was less angry with Trip for talking him into the misadventure that had eventually lead to their mutual dressing down by Captain Archer than he was with himself. _I should have known better,_ he kept berating himself silently.

"Are you trying to be obtuse on purpose?" Trip asked in frustration.

The turbo lift stopped and the men stepped out of it. They went no farther, but their conversation continued.

"Oh, _insults_. _That's_ the way to win a man's heart."

"Malcolm."

"_What?_"

"The Captain didn't specify _whose_ quarters we're confined to."

Finally, Reed caught on to what the engineer meant. "Oh no," he protested. "We've already been reprimanded once tonight. I don't care to repeat the experience."

"But—"

"No, _Commander_." He deliberately emphasized the title to keep the argument more formal than familiar. "I am spending the night in my quarters, and you are spending the night in yours. If we're lucky, Captain Archer will allow us return to our posts once we've left this bloody repair station."

The debate was suspended by a hail from the Captain. "Archer to Tucker."

Trip hit the comm panel next to the turbolift. "Go ahead, sir." Seeing Malcolm about to leave, he quickly grasped his arm and mouthed, _Hang on._ Malcolm paused, waiting impatiently.

"Meet me in Launch Bay One, and bring Lieutenant Reed. There's been an accident."

"Aye, sir." He closed the connection and gave Malcolm a significant look, which the lieutenant pointedly ignored. The turbolift doors opened immediately when he pressed the call button, and the two men stepped back inside.

*****

Reed and Tucker entered the launch bay and stopped short. T'Pol and Archer were speaking with Doctor Phlox as a pair of med-techs loaded a body onto a gurney. Cormack stood silently to one side, her expression inscrutable as she watched Phlox and his team depart with the lifeless form of Travis Mayweather.

Trip's eyes widened in horror and disbelief as they passed by and out of the launch bay. "Sir, what happened?" he asked as Archer approached them. 

The captain looked at him but made no reply. Instead, he turned to Ensign Cormack. "You found him?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered flatly.

"Do you have any idea how much time passed between the accident and when you found him?"

"Less than a minute. I was walking. I couldn't sleep. I saw someone come in here, but I didn't see who until—" She paused, trying to keep control of her voice.

"This section was supposed to be off limits. What were you doing here?" Archer continued. There was no sound of accusation in his tone, but Cormack tensed nonetheless.

Reed noticed the subtle shift in her stance and took a half-step forward. Tucker put a hand on his shoulder, not trying to hold him back, but rather as a subtle suggestion he wait to find out where the Captain was headed with his questions.

"I didn't realize where I was immediately," Cormack continued. "When I did, I was going to turn around and go back. Then I saw someone" She took a breath to calm herself. "I saw Travis come in here, so I figured the area was clear after all."

"All right, Ensign. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir." But she didn't move. "Sir?" she asked shakily.

"Yes?"

"Permission to tell Ensign Cutler what's happened? She should know."

In the stress of the moment, Archer had all but forgotten about the relationship between the exobiologist and _Enterprise_'s helmsman. He nodded.

"Thank you, sir." Cormack turned to go.

Reed put a supportive hand on her arm as she passed. "Will you be all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir." She left.

"All right," Archer addressed the remaining officers. "I want to know exactly what happened, why Travis was in a restricted area in his off hours, and what he was working on."

Out in the corridor, Cormack paused. She took a deep, steadying breath. She'd seen bodies before, even a friend once. Still, that wasn't what had her so upset.

She'd finally remembered the pictures from her dream.

Cormack pushed the discovery aside for the moment. She had other, more pressing things to deal with.

__

How am I gonna tell Liz? 

*****

Liz Cutler was in shock. She'd been surprised and disoriented when her bunkmate woke her, an unreadable expression on her face. Now, she sat here in the harsh light, numb with disbelief. "What?" she asked weakly.

"Travis is dead," repeated Stephanie as gently as she could manage. "They're not a hundred percent sure what happened, but it looks like he was working on the EPS grid when a relay overloaded. He was killed by an isolytic shock." She was glad Malcolm had contacted her with this information before she'd woken Liz. Her own stalling, trying to figure out how best to tell her bunkmate the terrible news, had brought this unexpected benefit. Hopefully, this small piece of hard fact would help her friend comprehend what had happened.

__

Sometimes it's good to procrastinate a little, she thought with bitter humor. 

"But he wasn't on duty tonight." Cutler was confused. "Why was he working on the EPS grid?"

"I don't know, honey. That's all they've been able to figure out so far."

"He wasn't on duty," Liz repeated emphatically. "There must be a mistake. _I_ had a late shift, but _he_ didn't. He was going to have dinner with Hoshi over on the station. He left me a message. We're having lunch together tomorrow."

"A message?" Cormack lit on this bit of news.

"Uh-huh."

"What did it say?"

Cutler looked at her as if she'd just grown antennae. "It said we're having lunch together tomorrow."

"Anything else? Did he mention any repairs? Anything he was going to do after dinner?"

"What? No. Nothing." She looked at her bunkmate, her brow furrowed. "He's really?" She couldn't bring herself to say it yet.

Cormack nodded sadly. "Yeah, honey, he is. I'm so sorry."

Cutler didn't move for several seconds. Stephanie continued to sit beside her on the bunk, waiting in case her friend needed her.

Finally, Liz took a deep, shuddering breath and began to cry softly. Immediately, Stephanie put her arms around her weeping bunkmate and held her as growing sobs shook her slim frame.

"Shhh," crooned Stephanie softly, rocking her gently. "I'm here. I've got you."

Neither woman knew how much time had passed when the comm chirped. It was long enough that a small mountain of tissues was piled on the floor at their feet. It was long enough that Liz had cried herself out for the time being. 

Cormack placed a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. "You going to be okay for a minute?" she asked softly.

Liz just nodded and wiped her red nose with another tissue.

Stephanie stood and opened the comm. "Cormack here," she said.

Phlox's voice answered her. "Is Ensign Cutler with you?"

"I'm right here," answered Liz from where she sat. "What—what is it?"

"I have some news for you."

*****

It was a roller-coaster night of emotions for all of _Enterprise_'s command staff, but the hardest hit crewmember was Elizabeth Cutler. The news that Travis was dead had struck her like a blow, stunning her briefly until reality sank in. Then there was the bizarre news that the body found in the launch bay wasn't Travis at all, but a clever replica. But where was Travis, in that case? Trapped inside the repair station, as it turned out.

Captain Archer and Sub-commander T'Pol had gone in to get him, but it was a close call. Liz didn't know all the details, but she knew _Enterprise_ had only managed to break away from the station after a fight, and they'd taken minor damage in the escape.

Now Liz sat in sickbay next to Travis. Captain Archer had just left after checking up on the helmsman and confirming a breakfast meeting with the young man.

She took one of his strong hands in both of hers, lacing their fingers together. She gave him a smile, which he returned tiredly. "How are you feeling?" she asked, despite the fact he'd just answered the same question from Archer.

"Better," Mayweather replied. "Tired."

"Should I go? Let you get some sleep?"

Travis shook his head slightly. "I'll sleep better if you're here. If you don't mind staying," he added.

"Of course I don't mind! You get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." She smiled again, sweetly.

"You're so beautiful," said Travis softly, reaching his free hand over to brush her tousled brown locks from her eyes.

"Go to sleep," she advised softly. "You're obviously too tired to see straight."

"I know what I see."

Liz gave a quiet laugh. She knew full well her eyes were puffy and her nose was red from all the crying she'd done over night. "Go to sleep," she repeated.

This time Travis gave no argument, but closed his eyes and soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Liz, too, was beginning to nod off when Phlox gently touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he said quietly.

"It's okay," she replied just as softly. "What is it?"

"I thought you'd be more comfortable if you returned to your quarters to sleep."

"No, thank you. I told Travis I'd be here when he woke up."

"He won't wake up for quite some time, I'm sure," the Denobulan assured her. "He's been through a lot, and his body is in need of a good, long rest. I have a suggestion." At Cutler's inquisitive, if somewhat foggy, look, he continued, "You're excused from your regular duties today, but I have another plan for you. Go to your cabin and get a few hours of sleep. Come back here when you're ready. I have a meeting with Doctor Douglas this afternoon. It would be helpful if you could stay here and keep an eye on things while I'm gone."

A slow smile cracked Liz's weary face. "I'd be happy to," she said.

*****

"Hello!" said Kyrin cheerily, ushering Phlox into his office. "How's your patient?"

"Ensign Mayweather is doing very well, I'm happy to say," replied the Denobulan pleasantly. He took a seat at one end of the sofa. The psychiatrist sat at the other end.

"Good, good." Douglas reached over to his desk and picked up a datapad. "What's on the agenda today?" he asked rhetorically, scanning the screen. His eyes lit upon the information he was seeking. "Ah. Of course."

"Yes. I'm a little concerned."

"You know, it's odd you should bring the subject up. Sub-commander T'Pol and I discussed it at some length back in January, before the trip to Risa."

"Of course!" said Phlox, echoing his colleagues words. "What did you make of her postulations?"

"I think she had a valid point, although I believe her view of the situation was naturally a bit skewed, being on the outside, as it were. That is, with Vulcans being on more of a schedule, so to speak," he clarified. "But then, none of us can truly know what's going on inside another person's head, can we? No matter what our patients choose to believe." He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"True. Sometimes I think it's a shame; it could make diagnoses simpler under certain conditions. Other times, I don't think I'd want to know what a patient is thinking. Naturally, those are the ones most likely to tell me—whether I've asked them to or not."

At this, Doctor Douglas laughed outright. "Why do I think you're talking about Ensign Cormack?"

"Among others," Phlox confirmed. "But back to the subject at hand. I've observed a growing tension between the Captain and Sub-commander T'Pol."

"I see." Douglas wasn't overly surprised; the Captain's feelings towards Vulcans in general were well known. However, as he rarely saw either of the officers in question in a professional capacity, he hadn't any recent data to go by. He was working on the crew's semi-annual psychological reviews, but he'd begun with the enlisted crewmembers and hadn't yet gotten to the command staff. "Do you mean professional, personal?"

"Primarily sexual, actually," Phlox informed him. "Apparently the Captain's shore leave wasn't as successful as intended."

"That's a shame." Kyrin thought of his own visit to Risa. It had been lovely, if not in the way Phlox and he were discussing, but he'd had opportunities since to alleviate his own tension. A smile crossed his face at the thought of his handsome young lover, Liam. "But what makes you suspect there's sexual tension between Captain Archer and the sub-commander?" he asked, pulling his mind back on topic. "I'm certainly aware of a fair amount of professional tension, but what you suggest is completely contrary to the Captain's psychological history."

"I've made a few observations," the physician replied. He handed Douglas a datapad.

"A few?" joked the psychiatrist, raising an eyebrow at the long list of notes Phlox had recorded. But he studied the data before him carefully. "Fascinating," he said at last. "I can't say I've seen any of this myself, but you work with both officers far more than I ever do. In fact, I think I'd probably be speechless with surprise if either of them ever sought my professional services of their own accord. May I make a copy of your notes?"

"By all means."

Douglas rose and moved to the seat behind his desk. "Won't take a moment." He quickly downloaded the information from the pad to his secured confidential files and handed the datapad back to Phlox. "I'll be sure to study this more in depth before our next meeting."

"How are the crew's psychological reviews going?" asked the Denobulan. "Is there anything I should be aware of?"

"No, I'm happy to say. Everyone I've examined is doing extraordinarily well in our present circumstances. There have been several cases of homesickness, of course, but with the damage to our long range communications repaired, the letters from home should come pouring in shortly. I know I'm certainly looking forward to hearing from family and friends."

"As am I," agreed Phlox. His wives didn't write terribly often, but two of his children were excellent correspondents. He was anxious to hear from them about their latest endeavors.

*****

"Woo-hoo!"

"What exciting news from home do you have this time?" asked Cutler with a smile.

"I'm an aunt again!" exclaimed her bunkmate happily. "Lalita Shukla Cormack. Look." She pointed to the monitor where there was a picture of a sleeping newborn baby with wisps of black hair escaping a tiny knit cap.

"She's darling."

"No she's not," contradicted Cormack with a laugh. "But she will be when she stops looking like a squished plucked chicken."

"Stephanie!" Liz couldn't help but laugh, too, at this description. She had to admit it was a fair one.

"There are some other pictures, too. Want to see?"

"Sure." 

Once the subspace antenna was back online, the crew had begun receiving several weeks' worth of delayed communications. The exobiologist hadn't gotten much news, herself, but she was neither disappointed nor surprised. Her small immediate family was scattered throughout Earth's solar system, and they were all very busy. Instead, she took pleasure in watching her friend's excitement.

"That must be your sister," said Liz, looking at a picture of a tall, dark-haired, and very pregnant woman wearing an apron and brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon.

"Yeah. It's easier to get pictures of her when she's pregnant." At Cutler's surprised look, Cormack elucidated. "She can't run as fast, so it's easier to get away once you've snapped the pic. She's making her world famous Fireball Sauce here. It's never the same twice, but it's always killer."

"So what goes into it?"

"Roasted peppers, fresh peppers, onions, vinegar—I don't know what all. But it's always hot enough to make your eyeballs sweat," the blonde woman said wistfully. "She makes it with peppers she grows herself."

"In Vancouver?"

"Yeah."

"It's not even summer yet there. Peppers aren't even remotely in season."

"She has a huge greenhouse. She's a horticulturist. See?" Stephanie pointed to the picture of her sister. "Check out her apron." 

Liz looked more closely and was just able to make out the words on the apron. "You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think." She snickered. "That's funny."

"Yep," agreed Cormack happily. "It was a present from Kevin, so of course she has to wear it."

"I thought Kevin was three."

"Four. His birthday was in January."

"And he picked out the apron?" said Liz doubtfully.

"Of course not! _Gemma_ picked out the apron."

"Oh! I got it." She laughed again. "Clearly a wicked sense of humor is required if one is to be a member of your family."

"It's the first item on the application," quipped Stephanie.

Liz returned to her bunk and sat. "Anything else exciting going on?"

"The Orcas are leading the AL West, but it's way too early in the season to get your hopes up."

"_Your_ hopes. I don't actually care, remember?" teased Cutler.

"Philistine."

"Baseball snob. Anything else?"

"Cordelia's Sisters have a new album due out in July. And so do the Hoolie-gans."

"I hope your kind, wonderful, _giving_ family is planning to send those to you," said Liz hopefully.

"I'll make sure to ask," Cormack said with a knowing grin.

*****

"The Kreetassans?" asked Archer wearily. "You're sure there aren't any other species nearby we could ask?"

"The Kreetassans are the logical choice," T'Pol replied. She stood across the desk from the Captain, hands clasped loosely behind her back. "Their planet is nearby. Their components are reliable and of high quality. We have a previous relationship with them."

Archer cut her off. "That's what I'm worried about. That 'previous relationship' didn't start off very well."

"It ended on amicable terms, however," the Vulcan pointed out.

"Why do I think we just got lucky? Or maybe the Kreetassan ambassador really liked Travis's smile?" It was the ensign who had actually apologized to the ambassador on behalf of his indisposed captain, and he'd done it well enough to restore the young relationship Archer had personally botched up.

Archer shook his head. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of contacting the temperamental Kreetassans again. They were so easily offended by things humans took for granted as ordinary facts of life. The thought that he would bungle a second contact as badly as he had their first made him edgy.

"Captain, we need a new plasma injector."

"I know," he said sharply. He took a moment to calm down. He wasn't angry with T'Pol; there was no reason to take his frustrations out on his Science Officer. "Sorry." He sighed. "Have Ensign Mayweather set a course for the Kreetassan homeworld. And see what sort of protocols we need to follow when we contact them. I'm sure there must be something about not speaking in contractions, or wearing a hat indoors, or some other ridiculous custom we need to know about."

"Sir," said T'Pol, a hint of admonishment in her well-modulated tones. "May I remind you it's that sort of attitude—"

Archer held up a hand to forestall her. "I know, Sub-commander. I just need to get it out of my system now while I can, so it doesn't come bubbling out when we get there."

T'Pol gave a small nod of understanding before leaving the ready room.

"At least my ship and crew are all in one piece again—not counting one iffy plasma injector," Archer muttered to himself.

The damage caused by their escape from the alien repair station had been easily fixed. Travis was his usual, cheerful self and back on duty. The captain sat back in his chair wearily and checked the time. _I wonder if Trip's interested in tonight's movie?_ he thought. He was ready for a night of mindless entertainment, and the idea of watching _Terminator 2_, this week's offering, appealed.

He opened a comm line. "Archer to Trip." He waited several seconds, but there was no response. He tried again. "Archer to Trip, respond." A thought occurred to him and he quickly checked the time. _He wouldn't be? No. It's a little early for that._

Now he was getting concerned. "Commander Tucker, respond."

Finally he heard the chirp as the comm was opened at the other end. "Tucker here, sir. Can this wait?"

"What's going on, Trip? Why did you take so long to respond?"

"Uhh... Got...distracted," was the engineer's reply. "Can I call you back? We have sort of a medical emergency here."

"A _what_?!" exclaimed Archer, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Really, sir, I'm sorry, but I need to call ya back," Tucker repeated.

The captain heard the unmistakable sound of the connection being closed. "What the hell?" 

Deciding it was worthwhile to find out for himself what was going on, he rose and left his ready room.

"Course change has been implemented, Captain," T'Pol informed him as he crossed the bridge.

"Thank you, Sub-commander," he said, not slowing down. "Good to see you back at the helm, Travis," he added as he stepped into the turbolift.

"Thank you, sir," was the ensign's reply as the lift door shut.

Mayweather looked at T'Pol inquisitively, but if the Vulcan had any idea what had Archer in such a hurry, she gave no sign.

Moments later the captain emerged onto E-deck. He turned and headed toward sickbay, then noticed something strange on the deckplating. He knelt down and touched an unusually dark spot. "Blood?" he muttered, perplexed. "What is going on?" He rose.

"Sir," said Hoshi, startling him. "I have a couple of suggestions regarding some communications protocols. I wonder if I could meet with you sometime soon to discuss them?"

"Sure, fine," he answered, only half aware of what the ensign had said.

Sato noticed his distraction and inquired, concerned, "Is something wrong, sir?" He showed her the smudge of blood on his fingers. Her eyes widened, and she looked him up and down, searching for an injury. "Are you all right?"

"It's not mine. Excuse me, Ensign. And have a steward come clean this up," he shot over his shoulder as he rushed off.

"Yes, sir!" Hoshi called after him.

Archer noted several more patches of blood staining the deckplating before he arrived at sickbay. He was about to open the door when Trip emerged and they nearly collided.

"Trip! What's going on?" Archer demanded. Looking his friend over, he saw several blood stains on his usually neat uniform. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Trip flushed. "Just a little accident, Captain," he answered hesitantly. "Everything's under control. What did you want to see me about?"

"Everything's under control?" Archer said skeptically.

"Yes, sir." 

Tucker's too innocent expression was a huge warning sign that he was hiding something. Archer knew the look well, and it had never fooled him.

"Well, if everything's under control, perhaps you can tell me whose blood this is?" He held up his hand, now sticky with drying blood, to point at the stains on his friend's uniform.

"It's Lieutenant Reed's, sir." The engineer made a conscious choice to use his lover's title rather than his first name. He was desperately hoping this interrogation wouldn't continue, but if it did he felt a bit of misdirection wasn't out of line. _If it makes the Captain suspect a professional accident rather than a private one, I can live with a little deception,_ Trip thought.

Archer was well aware of Trip's unusual reticence. It went right along with the wide-eyed innocent look he'd adopted. He decided to play along for the time being. "I see," he said. "And what sort of accident would have left a trail of Malcolm's blood across the deckplating of half of E-deck?"

"A broken nose."

"A broken nose?" echoed Archer in surprise. _What the hell is going on?_ he wondered for the nth time.

"Yes, sir," affirmed Tucker.

"How did Lieutenant Reed's nose get broken?"

"It was an accident, sir."

"So you said." _It's like pulling teeth._ Archer regarded Tucker for several moments until he thought the engineer was going to squirm out of his skin at the scrutiny. "Care to elucidate?"

"Not really, sir."

"Tell me, Commander, am I going to have to _order_ you to tell me how my Armory Officer accidentally ended up with a broken nose when we're not under attack and there are no fight certifications going on?"

Trip's shoulders slumped and his face lost its innocent look in favor of pained embarrassment. "Please don't, Captain. You really don't want to know."

"I don't?" Archer had severe doubts on this point.

"No. Trust me." How to explain without having to explain? Tucker's frantically racing mind lit on an idea. "Remember last year when we intercepted that coded message from the Vulcans and it turned out to be a private letter to T'Pol?" he asked.

The Captain wasn't sure where his old friend was going, but that was par for the course with this conversation so far. "Yes, I remember."

"And remember I said you could order me to tell you what was in the letter, but you really wouldn't want to know?"

__

Ah, Archer thought in understanding. "This is something similar?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"It's" He bit the bullet. "private, if you get what I mean, sir." Trip looked at him with abashed but hopeful eyes.

"I see." There was a pause as Archer carefully considered his next words. "Is this the sort of accident that's likely to happen again?" he asked delicately.

Trip's eyes widened in shock. "No, sir!" he protested vehemently. "I never meant It was just You startled me when you hailed me, and"

"Trip, stop. You're right. I don't want to know."

The engineer heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Yes, sir," he agreed.

"So, is Malcolm okay? You said everything was under control."

"He'sin surgery."

This time it was Archer's turn to look shocked. "Surgery?!" Trip just nodded. Without thinking, the captain exclaimed. "What the hell were you two doing that you broke his nose so badly he needs _surgery_?!" At Trip's pained expression, he held up a hand. "Sorry. I'm sorry. We've already established that I don't want to know."

"And it won't happen again," Tucker reminded him.

"I'm glad to hear that."

There was a long pause as the old friends stood there, neither quite sure what to say next.

At length Archer broke the silence. "So, I don't suppose you're in any mood to go to the movie tonight."

Tucker stared at him a moment and then inexplicably burst out laughing. Archer found himself chuckling in response for no reason he could logically discern.

"No, sir," Trip said through the laughter. He took a moment to calm down before he went on. "I promised Malcolm I'd be here when he came out of surgery."

"Of course. Do you want some company?" offered Archer.

Trip nodded. "Yeah. I'd appreciate it."

The two reentered sickbay and immediately continued to the recovery area. They sat. Another silence fell, once again broken by the Captain.

"Do I want to know why you found my mentioning the movie so funny?" he asked warily.

"We were talking about the movie beforebefore the accident."

"Ah."

More silence.

"You'll be happy to know we're going to get that plasma injector for you," Archer said. It was on his mind, and he figured Trip could use some good news.

Tucker perked up a little. "Yeah? Great! You decided it was worth talking to the Kreetassans again?"

"I hope it will be. After last timewho knows?"

"Just make sure you eat before you leave the ship," joked Trip.

Archer chuckled ironically. "I'll try to remember. If everything goes well, we may even be able to start up formal relations with them."

"Formal's right. I never thought anyone could be as easily offended as the Kreetassans. They should hand out a book to visiting aliens listing all the little things that might cause offense."

"I don't think there's enough storage space in all of _Enterprise_'s datacore for a book that size."

Phlox poked his head into the room at that moment. "Ah! I thought I heard voices," he said pleasantly. "Good evening, Captain."

"Good evening."

"How's Malcolm, Doc?" asked Tucker, rising. "Can I see him?"

"Oh, he'll be fine, Commander, in a few days. You're welcome to see him, of course. Although you might prefer to wait a little while."

"I don't think so."

Phlox shrugged noncommittally. "He's still under sedation, but it's up to you."

"Excuse me," Trip said to Archer and Phlox. He quickly left recovery.

Archer regarded the physician. "Do you know what happened, Doctor?" he asked quietly.

"An accident is all I was told," the Denobulan replied. "And even if I knew more, I couldn't say. You know that, Captain," he admonished lightly.

"Yes, I do." He was stymied at every turn. He believed Trip when the engineer said he didn't want to know. That didn't stop his naturally curious nature from wondering.

"There are some mysteries that are better left mysteries," Phlox said as if he'd read the Captain's thoughts.

Reluctantly, Archer nodded.

In sickbay proper, Tucker stood next to Malcolm's bed. The lieutenant was out cold, as Phlox had said he would be. Bandages hid his nose and much of the surrounding area, but the swelling and bruising were still apparent around them. Almost afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him more, Trip gently brushed mussed dark hair from his lover's forehead. He bent down and put his lips as close to Malcolm's ear as he dared. "I'm so sorry, darling," he whispered. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

He was surprised to hear Malcolm's weak reply. "You bloody better," he murmured.

Trip laughed in relief. "We Tuckers always keep our promises," he said softly, feigning indignation.

"Good." Malcolm's lids fluttered open, and the lieutenant worked to make aching, drug-weighted eyes focus on the handsome face so close to his own. "'Cause I'll remember."

"Go back to sleep," advised Trip. "I'll still be here."

"Okay," Malcolm agreed. There was no point in arguing; he couldn't keep his eyes open. He let them shut, and he was fast asleep.

*****

Malcolm awoke disoriented. His head felt heavy, and it was difficult to breathe. He tried to look around, but could barely lift his head from the pillow. _Sickbay,_ he identified finally. The events of the previous evening came flooding back with painful clarity. He raised a cautious hand and felt the bandages that enveloped a large portion of his face. _Splendid. So much for the bad dream theory._

In the darkness off to his right he could see the shape of a body slumped in a chair. Listening, he could hear soft snoring. _Trip,_ he thought with a silent chuckle. _He's going to have quite a backache if he stays like that all night._ He shifted on the biobed, trying to push himself to a sitting position.

At that moment, the curtain around the bay was quietly opened. "My monitors said you were awake," said Phlox softly. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" He raised the light level slightly, just enough to make the instruments clearly readable.

"Like my face impacted with a torpedo, to be honest," answered the armory officer. He gave in to Phlox's gentle pressure on his shoulder and laid back down.

"I'm not surprised. Whatever you and Commander Tucker were up to, it caused extensive damage to your nasal bones and maxilla."

"We weren't up to anything," protested Reed weakly. In fact they _had_ been up to something, but nothing that should have resulted in physical damage.

"Of course."

Malcolm couldn't decide from his tones whether the Denobulan believed his protests or not. "You should wake Commander Tucker," he said, deliberately changing the subject.

Phlox glanced from the monitors to the sleeping engineer. "You're quite right." He raised his voice. "Wake up, Commander!" 

Even with some slight warning, Reed started. Tucker jerked awake and nearly out of his seat. "Huh? Wha—? Ow!" One hand flew up to his neck, massaging away the sudden, sharp pain there.

"I expect your neck is somewhat stiff," continued Phlox. "I'll administer an analgesic if you feel you need it."

"Huh?" Trip said again. "No, thanks." He finally managed some coherency. He looked over at the doctor and Malcolm. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing new," Phlox told him. "Perhaps you should return to your quarters," he suggested. "You'd be more comfortable there."

"I'll stay."

"Go," said Malcolm, surprising him. "Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean you shouldn't get a decent night's sleep."

Tucker checked the time. "Not that much of the night left," he said. He stood and stepped closer. He gave Phlox a questioning look; he didn't want to be in the doctor's way.

"It's all right, Commander," the Denobulan said. "I'm nearly finished." He turned his attention to his patient while the engineer stood by impatiently. "I expect the painkiller I gave you earlier is beginning to wear off."

"Yes," the lieutenant agreed.

"I know better than to give you more without asking." 

Reed was stubborn when it came to medications; he didn't like things that clouded his thinking. This time, however, he didn't mind. "More drugs would be welcome, actually," he said. At Trip's concerned look, he added tiredly, "What did you expect, love? It _hurts_."

"I'm _really_ sorry, Malcolm."

"You can stop apologizing. It was an accident. I'm not going to hold it against you. But I am going to hold you to your promise to make it up to me."

Even in the dim light, Malcolm could see Trip flush. It wasn't his intention. He hadn't even meant to give the reminder out loud. _Guess the drugs are still working more than I realized,_ he thought, chagrined. _I'll have to do my own apologizing later._

Tucker gave Phlox a furtive look, wondering if he'd caught Malcolm's comment. The Denobulan was busy prepping a hypo for Reed and gave no sign that he'd heard the exchange at all, although in such close proximity he had to have. Trip gave silent thanks for the doctor's quirky sense of propriety and politeness. He could never guess when it was going to work in his favor, but he was very grateful it had this time.

Phlox pressed the filled hypo against Reed's neck, releasing a welcome flow of analgesic and sedative. That complete, he turned to Tucker. "Are you staying or going, Commander?" he asked.

Much as he regretted the decision, he knew it was the right one. "I'm going. As soon as Malcolm falls asleep," Trip added hastily.

"I'll leave you two alone then. I'm sure you can let yourself out when you're ready, Commander. Don't keep him awake when he starts to drift off," he ordered Tucker sternly. "Any favors you have to repay should wait until tomorrow at the earliest, anyway."

Tucker just dropped his head and nodded mutely. _So much for propriety,_ he thought.

"Good night." Phlox smiled and left, pulling the curtain back around the medical bay.

After a moment, Malcolm spoke up softly. "Don't just stand there. Sit down. Talk to me until I fall asleep."

"About what?" asked Tucker, his tone equally hushed. Nevertheless, he reached out and pulled the chair over. He sat and took Malcolm's hand in his own.

"Anything. Did you go see the movie?"

"I've been right here all evening."

"That can't have been interesting," Malcolm chided with a yawn. "You should have gone. I'd never have noticed."

"You might have. You might've woken up. I wanted to be here. Besides," his lover said gently, "I like watching you sleep."

Reed would have snorted derisively, but it was out of the question under the circumstances. He contented himself with a wry look at the handsome blond beside him. "Can't imagine what I ever did to deserve you."

"I was thinking the same about me and you."

Another silence fell, and Trip thought Malcolm had nodded off. Then his partner spoke again. "You're supposed to be talking to me," he scolded gently, opening eyes that had closed against his will.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know." Reed yawned again.

"I should go."

"Not yet. Tell me about the engines. Have you found a replacement for that plasma injector that's been acting up?"

"Yeah. The Kreetassans have what we need. Captain said we're headed there now. Should be there day after tomorrow."

Reed moaned. "Not the Kreetassans." He was fighting to stay awake, and failing.

Tucker chuckled. "Don't worry. The Captain's a trained diplomat. It'll be a simple away mission. Go to the planet, make nice, get the plasma injector, get out. I'm sure everything'll be fine." He watched his lover's eyes flutter closed.

"Just don'ttake" murmured Reed, already half asleep.

"What?" whispered Trip.

"Just don't lethim takethat dog."

Tucker bit back a laugh; he didn't want to disturb Malcolm now that he was asleep again. Regretfully, Trip rose and, giving his partner's knuckles a soft kiss, left him to rest. Before he left sickbay, though, there was one thing he wanted to know.

"Hey, Doc?" he asked softly.

The Denobulan looked up from his computer terminal and turned a pleasant smile on the engineer. "Yes, Commander?"

"How long until Malcolm's all healed up?"

"I've knitted the bones, but it will be about a week before all the swelling and bruising have passed."

"And how long will he be off duty?"

"At least the next two days. I'd prefer three, if you could find a way to manage it?" he asked hopefully.

Trip was startled but understood the logic. If you want a stubborn and difficult patient to behave, you go to their significant other for help. "Sure, Doc. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll do my best." One look from the doctor and he knew his statement had been misinterpreted. _Well,_ he thought, _maybe not._ If he was honest with himself, he had to admit Phlox probably had the right idea with his assumptions. 

"So, at least two days off duty, huh?" he said, returning to his original train of thought. He chuckled. That meant he'd be off duty during the visit to the Kreetassans. "He's not gonna like that."

*****

Stephanie took a deep breath and let it out before opening a comm line. "Cormack to Doctor Douglas."

"Go ahead," was the immediate reply.

"Hey, Kyrin. Do you have time to meet with me? Iremembered some of that dream we were talking about the other day."

There was a brief pause while the psychiatrist presumably checked his schedule. "How does Friday at 1630 hours sound?"

"Great. Thanks."

*****

"I told you not to let him take the dog."

"Come on, Malcolm," said Trip. "You can't blame Porthos. He was just doing what dogs do."

"I don't blame Porthos." The implication was clear.

"You're not blaming _me_ for this, are you?"

Malcolm sighed heavily. "No, of course not."

Reed was more irked than angry. He couldn't argue that the mission to the Kreetassans' homeworld had ended with all parties happily in possession of what they wanted most—for _Enterprise_, a plasma injector; for the Kreetassans, a formal act of contrition from Captain Archer—but if Trip had listened to him in the beginning, and if Archer had listened to Trip He shook his head—something that had become much easier with the removal of the bandages that had swathed his nose for the past 72 hours. _Too many ifs,_ he thought. _If I'd been on duty, if anyone had listened to common sense, if the Kreetassans had bothered to check the genomes of _all_ of the landing party members_

"It was just a lot of unfortunate choices and circumstances colliding rather unpleasantly," the armory officer said at last. There was no point in stewing over it nowdespite the fact he felt sure he could have done something to prevent it if he'd been on duty.

"You couldn't've changed the Captain's mind, you know," Trip said. "I couldn't. T'Pol sure as hell couldn't. Even Ensign Cormack gave it a try." He begrudgingly had to admit she'd worked hard as the interim Armory Officer while Malcolm was on enforced medical leave.

"I know, I know. I simply can't help feeling there must have been _something_—"

"Stop beating yourself up over it, Malcolm," the engineer advised. "Porthos is fine. The plasma injector is fine. Even Starfleet's relationship with the Kreetassans is fine. Let it go." He rose from his seat on his bunk and approached Malcolm, who still stood in the middle of the cabin where he'd stopped upon entering. "Was there something else you wanted to talk about?" he asked suggestively, running a finger down Malcolm's arm.

"No." He knew what Trip was trying to do but wasn't yet inclined to play along. He felt like being contradictory for the moment.

"Come on. You didn't just stop by to chew me out, did you?"

"I might have," disputed Malcolm. 

"But you didn't."

"We could have blown that whole away mission," Reed continued to argue, although his heart was no longer entirely in the fight.

"You're right. We could have." Trip's mind wasn't on his words. He placed a gentle hand on Malcolm's cheek, ran one thumb tenderly over his cheekbone. "Perfect. Just like the doc promised," he said, pleased.

"Hardly perfect. I still have two black eyes and I can only just breathe through my nose," protested Malcolm.

"You'll be all better in a few more days."

"A few more days. I've already spent more than half the month injured in some way."

"Oh," cooed Trip, lightly teasing. "Poor baby." He adopted a pouty look. "Malcolm doesn't like being sick. It makes him grumpy."

"Very funny," sniped Malcolm. He crossed his arms over his chest, his face an unintentional echo of his lover's expression.

Tucker laughed. "Maybe I can cheer you up."

"I'll be cheered up when I go back on duty tomorrow morning, thank you."

"You don't want me to" The blond man leaned over and whispered into Malcolm's ear.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, do you?" jibed his partner, but he was smiling. Trip's suggestion had intrigued him.

"I can do a lot of things with this mouth, as you well know," Trip quipped back. He nipped playfully at Malcolm's earlobe. Malcolm shivered.

"Oh really?" he asked, pretending to doubt. "Prove it."

"With pleasure."

"Mine or yours?"

"What do you think?" 

Tucker stepped away suddenly, and Reed felt a quick pang at the loss of the close contact. Before he could ask the younger man what he was doing, Trip spoke up.

"Just putting a 'Do Not Disturb' order on both our comms. Now the only ones who can interrupt are T'Pol or the Captain—and only if it's an emergency," he quickly added. He returned to his lover and stood very close. "Now, where were we?"

*****  
End Log 2:5  
_Completed 29 Oct 02_

Continued in Log 2:6


	6. Log 2:6

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:6**: (Takes place shortly after _Marauders_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

_Isn't it supposed to rain on funerals?_ she thought, then let out a single mirthless chuckle. _Of course it isn't raining._

The silence was oppressive, palpable. Not even the usual white noise of _Enterprise_'s engines or the constant soft drone of the air cyclers penetrated the vacuum of sound that surrounded her.

The lights were dimmed in the launch bay. She stood alone. The others had left her to say her final goodbye to Travis Mayweather. The Captain's eulogy had been an equal mix of somber and heartening, recalling so many good things from the helmsman's too-short life. The others would all be waiting for her now in the mess hall where the wake would be held. All but Archer, who would open the bay doors, releasing the silver pod that contained Travis's body. It was programmed to enter a decaying orbit around the nearby red giant. Travis had first spotted the star only a few days ago.

She heard a rumbling noise, abrupt and jarring in the silence. Liz's eyes widened as she realized what she heard. The air in the launch bay was being sucked out. The cycle to open the bay to space had begun. Didn't the Captain know she was still here? She gasped in as much air as her lungs would hold and, sending a soundless good-bye to her dead lover, she raced for the stairs. There were only 42 seconds before the bay would be emptied of its air and the doors would open.

Liz counted the seconds in her head. _Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six_

She'd almost reached the control room door when the bay doors began to open. _No!_ she screamed in her mind. _Too soon!_

In her panic, she let go the breath she held and tried to catch another. But there was no air left. She was choking, unable to breathe, and her grip on the gangway railing slipped. She was falling inexorably toward the void of space

* * *

"Liz! Liz, wake up!" Stephanie shook her bunkmate, trying to wrest her from the dream that held her. "Come on, Liz! You're hyperventilating! _Wake up!_"

Liz's eyes flew open, but she continued gasp shallowly. 

Cormack quickly sat her up, swinging her friend's legs over the side of her bunk and immediately bending her over them so her head was at her knees. "What I wouldn't give for a paper bag," she muttered in impotent frustration. "Come on, Liz. Deep breaths, honey. Deep breaths."

Gradually, Cutler's breathing slowed and deepened. After a minute or so, she sat up cautiously. Liz looked at her bunkmate. "Whatwhat happened?" she asked, still a little breathless.

"Your turn for the freaky dreams, apparently," Cormack said. "Do you know what you were dreaming about?" When she saw Liz's eyes widen in horror, she was sorry she'd asked. "Never mind. You don't have to tell me. Forget I ever asked."

"It's okay," Liz assured her, but it was clear from the look on her face that nothing was really okay at that moment. "I need to see Travis."

The abrupt change of topic startled Stephanie. She glanced at the chronometer. "It's barely 0200."

"I don't care." Liz stood and wavered. 

Stephanie put a steadying hand on her arm. "You sure you can make it on your own? I can walk you there," she offered.

"No. I'll be fine." Liz turned and pulled a blanket from her bunk, wrapping it around herself.

"You sure?" Stephanie asked, dubious.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. See you later."

"Okay."

Without another word, Cutler left the cabin.

*****

Travis woke suddenly. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his heart was racing. His drawstring pajama bottoms clung to his damp skin. Snippets of his dream still swirled around his mind, but the harder he tried to grasp them, the more quickly they vanished. 

He started again when the door chimed suddenly. Confused and disoriented, he pushed back the covers and rose. He padded barefoot through the dimly lit cabin and opened the door. "Liz?"

"Can I come in?" asked Liz. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she was wrapped in a blanket. She looked small and vulnerable.

"Of course." He stepped back, and she followed him into the room. "Are you okay?" he asked, closing the door behind her.

"Not really." She turned to face him, suddenly feeling shy and a bit silly. "Ihad a bad dream," she admitted.

"Me, too."

She looked at him quizzically. "What was it?"

"I don't remember. There were voicesin my head. But everything else disappeared when I woke up."

"Wish mine would," Liz muttered, mostly to herself.

Travis couldn't quite make out what she'd said. "What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, trying to rid it of the all-too-clear images it held. "Can I stay? II need you to hold me."

"Of course!" In a second he was next to her, taking her in his strong arms and holding her closely.

Liz inhaled his scent, soothed by the warm humanness of it. She listened to his heart beating strongly in his chest, and she sighed. Calmed, she relaxed into his embrace.

Several minutes passed this way, each taking comfort in the other's presence. Finally Liz stirred. "I'm going to fall asleep on my feet," she joked softly.

"There's a bunk right here," answered Travis equally quietly. "You might be more comfortable in it than standing here."

"Only if you promise to keep holding me."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let you go."

Together they climbed into the bunk, and Travis once more encircled Liz in his arms. In minutes both were fast asleep, and neither was troubled by dreams again that night.

*****

"Morning, Stephanie," said Lawless, setting her latté and cereal on the mess hall table. She took a seat.

"Morning," was Cormack's unenthusiastic reply. She held her coffee mug in both hands as if she was afraid someone would try to take it from her. Dark circles ringed her hazel eyes.

"Up late last night?"

"Something like that."

Mae just nodded, sensing she would be better off not asking what had happened. Her friend didn't look in the mood to discuss it. "You remember my roommate Bonnie?" Lawless said, instead. She gestured to her bunkmate, an attractive woman with dark auburn hair and rich green eyes, who sat down next to her.

"Sort of," admitted Stephanie abashedly. She perked up a little with the presence of 'company' at breakfast. "Nothing personal," she added hastily.

"It's okay," answered the new arrival. "We haven't actually worked together. I'm usually on Gamma-shift." 

"Yeah, but I know we've met. Hang on. My brain's starting to function. You sang at the New Year's Eve party. You have a gorgeous voice!"

"Thanks." Bonnie smiled, flattered.

"Bonnie made ensign at the last reviews," Lawless reminded Cormack between bites of cereal.

"Oh yeah! Congrats!" said Cormack. Either the caffeine in her double latté was finally kicking in, or the blonde woman was abruptly and inexplicably energized by this information.

"Yeah. _Ensign_ Bonnie Fraser," the newest officer said proudly, then added with some trepidation, "reporting for her very first Alpha-shift helm duty today."

"That's so cool!" exclaimed Cormack. "So you think they'll work you into the Alpha-shift rotation?"

"If I don't screw up too badly."

"You'll be fine," Mae reassured her for what seemed like the seven-thousandth time since they'd risen that morning.

"Wish I could be on the bridge for you, but I'm stuck in the bowels of the ship this a.m., as usual," Stephanie said. She took another swallow of her coffee.

"Does that bug you at all?" asked Fraser, sipping her own foamy, decaf latté. "I'd probably go ape-shit crazy if I didn't have any windows to look out all day." She was looking at Stephanie curiously, an intense expression on her face. She unconsciously tucked a loose lock of short, curly hair behind one ear.

"It gets to me once in a while," admitted Cormack, "but mostly I'm too busy to notice. And since Liz and I have a port in our quarters, I get my fair share of starlight."

"That's a life-saver, isn't it?" agreed Fraser. "I feel sorry for the people who're stuck in the inside cabins."

"Yeah." Cormack drained the last of her latté. "Well," she began reluctantly, "I better go. There's a lot to do after the last few days' activities." She meant, of course, the defense of the deuterium miners' colony from the marauding Klingons.

"Dirt in the hand weapons?" asked Lawless.

"Yeah. Who knew those guns could hold so much crap? I've got to get them cleaned out and charged up for use again. At least the landing party didn't take too many of them down to that planet."

"And we got a whole lot of deuterium in exchange."

"True." 

"Were you in the landing party?" asked Fraser eagerly. Her only off-ship experience since _Enterprise_'s launch had been as one of the shuttlepod pilots ferrying lucky crewmembers back and forth from shore leave on Risa.

"No. They only took a minimal complement. _Enterprise_ needed to keep a low profile, so the fewer crewmembers down there fighting the Klingons, the better. So they said."

"We all know you wanted to go," teased Lawless.

"I'm still next up in the duty roster. I'll get to go next time." But the armory officer sounded disappointed.

"But next time there might not be a planet with Klingons to fight."

"You got it," agreed Stephanie. Her friend had hit the nail squarely on the head. "An alien planet and bad guys to fight." She sighed mournfully and shook her head. "It was a dream come true."

Lawless and Fraser both laughed at her despondent air. "You'll get over it," said Mae.

"I'm sure there will be more planets and bad guys in the future," added Bonnie consolingly.

Stephanie knew they were making fun of her; she'd intentionally set herself up for it. She'd felt the need for a bit of humor this morning, and what easier way than making friends laugh at her? "You guys are all heart," she replied flatly. Then she dropped her sad demeanor and rose. "Gotta go. Good luck today," she said to Fraser.

"Thanks," replied the helmsman.

"See you later?" Stephanie asked Mae.

"Right on," the engineer answered.

The bunkmates watched Stephanie depart, collecting a second latté from the drinks dispenser as she went. As soon as the door shut behind her, Fraser turned to Lawless. "I know her from somewhere."

"The New Year's Eve party, maybe?" said Mae with a tone of 'duh!' in her voice.

"No, somewhere else. Somewhere on Earth."

"Are you serious?"

"Totally. Where's she from?"

"Vancouver, BC. Don't mention the Orcas around her; you'll never get her to shut up."

"Orcas? The baseball team or the whales?"

"The baseball team," clarified Lawless.

"No problem, in that case. But I know I've seen her somewhere," Fraser insisted.

"Maybe it was back in training," suggested her bunkmate, sipping her espresso.

"Maybe. But I joined up the year you graduated from OTC, remember? We figured that out ages ago. I thought you said the two of you went through it together."

"Yeah."

"So it can't be that." Bonnie fell silent as she pondered the possibilities.

"You better finish your breakfast and get moving," Mae said, breaking the silence.

Fraser started. "You're right. Crap." She quickly downed the last of her drink and grabbed the remains of her muffin to finish in the turbolift. She stood. "Thanks. See you for lunch?"

"If you survive the morning."

"I hate you."

Lawless grinned and winked at her friend. "Relax. You'll be fine. See you for lunch."

*****

Travis was awake, but he didn't open his eyes. There was no reason to. He had the day off, and there was nowhere else he'd rather be than here in bed with Liz. The petite exobiologist was snuggled up next to him, so closely he could feel her breath tickle his skin every time she exhaled. He smiled and drifted back to sleep.

When he awoke again, Liz was looking at him. She lay on her side, her head resting on her bent arm. Her free hand reached out and brushed his stubbled cheek lightly.

"Morning," she said softly.

"Morning," he replied drowsily. Her touch on his cheek was like silk. While the gentle strokes threatened to lull his tired brain once more into sleep, other parts of his body had different ideas. He reached up and grasped her hand in his own. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed her fingers gently. She smiled. "How are you?" he asked.

Liz gave a one-shouldered shrug, her smile fading slightly. "I'm okay. I need to get up, I'm afraid," she added regretfully. "I have a mid-day shift, and there are things I need to do before that."

Travis shoved down his disappointment, and nodded. _Duty before desire,_ he thought. _What jerk thought up that rule?_ Still, he knew it was true, and there were a few things he planned to do with his day, as well. The first and foremost was shower and eat. He was used to eating fairly early due to his regular Alpha-shift position, and it was well past breakfast time, in his book. His stomach agreed with his thoughts, and growled loudly.

Liz chuckled. "Hungry?"

"Very hungry," he confirmed. "Do you want to get breakfast?"

"Yeah. I need to grab a shower first, make a quick call, then I'll meet you in the mess hall. How does that sound?"

"Call?" the helmsman asked.

"I thought it might be a good idea to talk to Doctor Douglas—assuming he has an opening in his schedule today." She pushed back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bunk. Travis sat up, too.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

The brunette nodded, not turning around. "Yeah," she tried to reassure him, although with little success. "I'm a lot better than I was when I showed up here last night." This, being the more honest answer, gave them both more comfort. "It'll help to talk to the doctor. Stephanie says he's very good at what he does." She stood and picked up the blanket she'd brought with her, once more wrapping it around her shoulders.

She turned to meet her lover's worried gaze, and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way. "Mess hall in thirty minutes?"

"Thirty minutes," Travis echoed.

Liz leaned over and kissed him. "See you there."

*****

"Captain," said Sato, "we're being hailed."

"Any idea who it is?" asked Archer, glancing toward the comm officer.

"The UT is working on it, sir." Her fingers danced over her console as she tried to translate the incoming message. She paused. "That's odd." She looked up and met Archer's inquisitive gaze. "They're hailing us by name."

At the tactical station, Reed's head snapped up. He didn't like the sound of that. The reputation _Enterprise_ had gained in its first year in space was a two-edged sword at best. He wondered what this new race of aliens had heard.

"The ship's design doesn't match anything in the database," T'Pol offered.

"Have you got a translation yet?" the captain asked Sato.

"I think so." She tapped one last button, and a female voice came through the comm.

"_Enterprise,_ the is the freighter _Aelouss_. If you are reading us, please respond."

"Open a channel," said Archer. Sato complied and gave him a go ahead nod. "Freighter _Aelouss_," the captain said into the air, "this is _Enterprise_."

The response was immediate. "Wonderful! We are very relieved to hear from you. Is this Captain Archer?"

"It is. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, _Aelouss_. You seem to know us, but we have no record of you in our systems."

"Our apologies, Captain. We heard of you from our friends the Xyrillians."

Reed tensed despite the fact that their experience with the Xyrillians had been friendly. _Too friendly,_ he thought.

The alien woman was still speaking. "We are Sosemma," she said. Before Archer had time to wonder if this was the woman's race or her name, she continued. "I am Aalounn, Captain of the _Aelouss_."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Aalounn. I gather you were looking for us specifically. May I ask why?"

"We understood from the Xyrillians that you have an excellent engineer aboard your vessel. We wondered if we could perhaps avail ourselves of his skills?"

_Which skills do you mean?_ thought Reed, leaping to ungenerous conclusions. _Because if you're talking about anything but engineering, you've got another think coming._

"Our warp coils have depolarized. No matter what our chief engineer does, they continue to fail," explained Aalounn.

"One moment, Captain," said Archer. He gave Sato a look indicating she should pause the transmission. She did. Archer turned to Reed. "Have you scanned their ship?"

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied. "We're still a fair distance away, but what she says appears to be true."

"So you don't believe it's a trap?"

"I didn't say that, sir."

Archer nodded in understanding. "Ensign Fraser," he addressed the helmsman, "time to intercept at present speed?"

"Twenty-eight point six minutes, sir," she answered immediately.

"Hoshi, open up the comm again."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain Aalounn, we'll be happy to give you any assistance we can."

The alien woman sounded very relieved at his words. "Thank you, Captain Archer! We are most grateful."

"We'll rendezvous with you in half an hour."

"Thank you."

At Archer's glance, Sato closed the connection. "Get me Commander Tucker."

She tapped another key and nodded. "Go ahead, sir."

"Bridge to Tucker."

"Go ahead, Captain," came the unmistakable tones of the chief engineer.

"I've got a job for you, Trip."

"As opposed to what I'm doing now?" joked Tucker.

Archer chuckled indulgently. "Meet me in Launch Bay One, and bring your toolkit. You're going visiting."

Tucker was puzzled, and it showed in his voice despite his reply. "Understood." The comm chirped shut.

"Captain," Reed spoke up. "I think it would be prudent to learn a bit more about these people before sending our Chief Engineer onto their ship."

"You're absolutely right. You and T'Pol see what you can come up with. Between the data we got from the Xyrillians and the scans we can take before we reach them, we should be able to learn something useful."

"Yes, sir." Reed's reply was calm, contained. No one would have guessed that on the inside he was quite pleased at this sign that Captain Archer was at last taking his suggestions of caution more seriously. It wasn't quite the response he'd hoped for from his (in his opinion) overly-trusting captain, but it was an improvement over similar past situations. He couldn't stop Archer sending Trip over, but he could make certain the mission wasn't immediately dangerous. He intensified his scans of the Sosemma vessel.

*****

"Hi, Doctor Douglas," said Cutler. She stood just inside the psychiatrist's office, not certain what she should do next. She'd only seen him for the standard crew psychological reviews; this was the first time she'd contacted him about a personal matter. "Thanks for fitting me in."

"It's no trouble," Douglas replied warmly. "And please, call me Kyrin."

"Okay."

"Why don't you have a seat?" He gestured to the couch.

Liz moved tentatively around the end of it and sat, folding her hands in her lap. "Thanks."

There was a pause while Kyrin waited for her to open the dialogue. When she didn't, he asked, "What did you want to see me about?"

Cutler looked down at her hands. "I had a nightmare," she began hesitantly. "I know that sounds silly. Why go see a psychiatrist about a nightmare, right?"

"It doesn't sound silly at all. Obviously it upset you greatly, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"It did." She nodded and finally looked up, made eye contact with Douglas. "Travis was dead. In the dream," she clarified, tangentially referring to the discovery of what they had believed to be the helmsman's dead body in the launch bay a some weeks before.

"Go on."

Liz took a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. "I was in Launch Bay One. I was standing next to hiscoffin. It was a pod set to fall into a red giant. Sort of like a burial at sea, you know?"

Kyrin nodded. "How did you feel?"

"I don't really know." She thought. "Sad, of course. Lost."

"Lost in what way?"

"I didn't know what to do. I was standing there, alone, staring at this shiny silver pod. I knew Travis was in there, but there wasn't anything I could do."

"Would it be reasonable to say you felt helpless?" he asked gently.

The young woman considered his words. "I suppose so." There was another silence as she tried to put into words what she had experienced in her dream. "I couldn't say good-bye to himand then it was too late."

"Too late because he had passed?"

"No." She shook her head. "Too late because the launch bay began to depressurize."

Kyrin tried not to look surprised. It wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "I see. What happened then?"

"I ran. I thought I could make it to the control room where the Captain was—make him stop the launch sequence." She was staring once more at her hands in her lap. They were clasped so tightly the knuckles were a glaring white. Liz forced herself to let go, and spread her hands flat on her knees. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I was too slow. Or the launch bay doors opened too soon. I'm not sure which it was now."

"Do you remember anything more?"

"No. That's when Stephanie woke me up. I was hyperventilating. Ithink I scared her."

"Fair's fair," said Kyrin with a small smile. "I know she's scared you once or twice."

Liz let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

Having eased the tension a little bit, Douglas returned to the subject of Cutler's dream. "Let's get back to the launch bay, okay?" Liz nodded. "You said you were alone with the pod. Why was that?"

"Why was I alone?"

"Yes."

"Everyone else had left."

"So they were there earlier?"

Liz thought hard about this. "I think," she began slowly, "they left before the dream started. I knew in the dream that they'd been there and left, but no one else was ever in the dream. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does. You knew others were around somewhere, but you were alone throughout the dream."

"Right."

"What about the Captain?"

"The Captain?"

"You said he was in the launch bay control room, correct?"

"Right. But I never got there. I don't know if he really was there, or" She shrugged. "Maybe the launch sequence began automatically? I know Captain Archer would never open a shuttlebay with someone inside, unprotected."

"You do?"

Liz was shocked. "Of course I do! There's no doubt in my mind."

"But in your dream, he was in control of the launch bay."

"If he really was there," countered Cutler. "I never saw him. Just like I never saw anyone else. He was _supposed_ to be there. I don't know that he was."

"He was supposed to be there," repeated Kyrin. "Maybe like he was supposed to be there to protect Travis?"

"What?" She looked at him, confusion clear on her heart-shaped face.

"Is it possible that you blame the Captain for Travis's 'death' back at the repair station? After all, he is by definition responsible for the crew."

Liz thought hard before answering. Did she blame Captain Archer for what had happened? He had made the choice to go to the station in the first place—although there had been little choice to make at the time. No one could deny they'd needed its services very badly. But the captain had rescued Travis from that very station at the risk of his own life. _No,_ she thought, then said aloud, "No. It wasn't his fault. He can't be everywhere at every moment. One could just as easily blame Lieutenant Reed; he's in charge of security, after all."

"But Lieutenant Reed didn't figure in your dream."

"No. But I don't believe the Captain was at fault," she said firmly. "Besides, I was trying to get to him to _help_ me in my dream. I believed he could save me."

Kyrin let that line of questioning go. Her response was reasonable, and she'd clearly thought about it. He might come back to it later, but for the moment he pursued another course. "Where was everyone? Everyone who left before the dream began?"

"In the mess hall," replied Liz immediately. "There was a wake. They were there waiting for me."

"But you never saw them."

"I never got there, remember? The launch bay opened; I freaked out; Stephanie woke me up."

"I remember. I just find it curious that you were alone at all times in your dream."

"Travis was theresort of. AlthoughI never saw him. I just knew he was in the pod." She sat back on the couch, pulled her feet up to one side of her and wrapped a hand around her ankles.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Again?" puzzled Liz.

"I'm sorry?"

"You asked that already."

"Humor me," said the counselor with a small smile.

"Sad. Lonely. It was so empty in the launch bay. I couldn't even hear the ship. You know how, if you listen, you can hear the engines humming? It's a low, deep thrum. It's more like you can feel it through the deckplating," she clarified.

"I know what you mean."

She idly picked up a cushion from the other end of the couch and played with it as she spoke. "I didn't hear that, or feel it. It was as if I was in another world almost. I couldn't hear anything because there was nothing to hear." Finally, she sat still, holding the pillow in front of her.

"You felt isolated."

"Very much."

"How do you feel now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you feel alone? Isolated? Lost?"

She shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But you're afraid of feeling that way again, aren't you?"

She gave a one-shouldered shrug and held the pillow more tightly. "I don't think so."

"Look at the way you're sitting," suggested Douglas.

Puzzled, Liz considered her position—back pressed deeply into the couch, feet tucked up, arms clutching the cushion like a lifeline. She willed herself to relax, but she didn't move. "You're suggesting I'm afraid to be left alone, right?"

Kyrin gave a small, noncommittal shrug. "Are you?"

"I didn't think so, but now I'm not so sure," admitted Liz. "I've never minded being by myself. I had a lot of time to myself when I was a child. It's nothing new."

"But being by yourself is very different from being left alone, or abandoned."

"I'm not feeling abandoned." Liz was surprised at his words.

"I didn't say you were. You're the only one who can tell what you're feeling." He paused, thinking, before he went on. "Being a member of Starfleet is risky business. We're exploring where no Earth ship has been before—often even where no Vulcan ship has been before. We're going to encounter a lot of new and dangerous situations out here, any one of which could result in the loss of a life, or several lives."

"I know that."

"I'm sure you do. I'm asking if you're ready to accept that the life lost might be that of the person you love?"

There was silence in the small office while what he'd said soaked into Liz's mind.

"That's it, isn't it," she said finally. It was less a question than an understanding. "Do I love him enough?"

Douglas remained silent. He'd led her here. This was something she needed to work out for herself.

"Do I love him enough to stay with him even knowing that, at any time, I might lose him?" Liz asked herself softly. "Or should I walk away now? If I walk away now it will hurt less, I suppose, than losing him somewhere down the line. But there's nothing that says he won't survive this mission we're on. There's no reason to believe we won't all, eventually, return home." Logically she knew the odds were slim that the entire crew of _Enterprise_ would survive their mission of exploration. _After all,_ she thought, _remember what happened to crewman Daniels._ There were no guarantees in Starfleet or in life. The question was, could she live with that?

Liz looked up at Kyrin once more. "Yes," she said. "I do love him enough to take that chance," she answered her own question. Liz sat up straighter and set the pillow she held aside. She smiled. "Thank you, Kyrin."

They psychiatrist smiled back at her. "That's why I'm here."

*****

Reed was almost disappointed when neither he nor T'Pol could find anything negative about the Sosemma. The ship that had hailed them was genuinely in need of repair. Its weapons were minimal—no more than short-range plasma cannons—and they had no shields beyond a very strong hull made of an unfamiliar alloy.

According to the minimal information they'd gotten from the Xyrillians, the Sosemma were a peaceful, matriarchal race. They came from a solar system boasting a Type A star and three planets, the second of which was home to their species. They called their planet Fojull.

There appeared to be no reason not to send Trip over to make repairs.

"That's all we've got?" asked Trip, when the news came to him through the comm.

"I'm afraid so, Commander," said Reed.

Trip and Archer exchanged glances over the shuttlepod's landing strut. There were a number of reasons to send the pod over rather than having _Enterprise_ dock directly with the freighter, as both remembered from their encounter with the Kreetassans and their unknown hitchhiker. Consequently, they were prepping a pod for launch.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep me posted," Archer said.

"Aye, sir." They heard the comm close.

The captain looked at Trip. "That doesn't sound too dangerous," he said.

"Yeah. Just like your visit to the _Fortunate_ didn't sound too dangerous."

"That was a completely different situation, Trip."

"Right," agreed Tucker. "That time we were dealing with our own species instead of some unknown aliens."

"They're on friendly terms with the Xyrillians," the captain reminded him, only to see his old friend tense at his words. "Trip? What's going on?"

"Nothing." The younger man stepped around the landing strut and climbed into the shuttle to continue the pre-launch checks. Archer followed him in.

"It's just a simple repair job, Trip."

"Yes, sir." There was a brief pause before Tucker said, "Are you sure you don't want to send Lieutenant Hess over instead of me?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Archer had a guess, but he was curious what the engineer would say.

"It's just that Malcolm said it's a matriarchal society. Maybe we'd be better off sending a woman over to help them out."

"They asked for you specifically. They heard about your reputation, and they wanted the best." He'd hoped his words would encourage is friend, but they seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Yes, sir," said Trip dispiritedly.

_Time to end this,_ thought Archer. "I get it," he said.

"Sir?"

"You're worried about what else they might know about you—besides the fact that you're an excellent engineer."

Tucker gave a noncommittal shrug, and Archer knew his guess was right.

"Trip, I didn't see much of Ah'Len, but she didn't strike me as the type of woman who would go around boasting about her conquests."

"I wasn't a conquest!" protested Tucker vehemently. "I didn't even know what was going on!" Here he quieted a little. "That kind of makes it worse, in a way. You sure you don't want to send Lieutenant Hess? You know she could handle the job."

"There's no reason to think they know about what happened between you and Ah'Len," Jon said, ignoring the attempt to change the subject. "We don't even know if they've had direct contact with the ship we helped."

"Wouldn't need to. It's probably in the Xyrillians' cultural database by now." He pretended to quote from an imaginary text. "Note: Human males are compatible for reproduction. See sub-section A-4, paragraph 13, re: Tucker, Trip; Chief Engineer; Earth Vessel _Enterprise_."

Archer couldn't help but laugh.

"Sir, it's not funny!" exclaimed Trip.

"I'm sorry." The captain was genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "You're right. I just think you're worrying about nothing."

"I hope you're right."

The comm chirped and was immediately followed by the voice of Ensign Fraser. "Bridge to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead."

"We're in range of the _Aelouss_, Captain."

"Understood, Ensign. Bring us to station keeping with the vessel. I'll be right there." He closed the comm. Before leaving the shuttlepod, he gave Tucker an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, Trip. Just behave like the gentleman and engineer I know you are."

"I did that before, and look what happened." Tucker sighed. "All right. I'll stop complaining. I know that's your nice way of telling me to suck it up and do my job. I don't want to make you say it outright."

"Good choice."

*****

_Oh no,_ thought Tucker, _not more scales._ But a closer look corrected his initial impression. The Sosemma weren't covered in scales, although their skin was shiny and mottled like the lizards he'd seen during survival training in the Australian outback. The two people who stood facing him were greenish-brown in skin-tone. They were both hairless, and their eyes had slitted pupils. Despite the lack of scales, the resemblance to the Xyrillians was still too great for Tucker's comfort. He fought the urge to fidget.

The foremost of the aliens had just introduced herself as Captain Aalounn. The other was the _Aelouss_'s chief engineer, Lossuularr.

"Pleased to meet you, Captain, Chief," Tucker said with a respectful nod to each in turn. The trio stood in a corridor of the _Aelouss_ just inside the airlock. Trip had his tool kit in his hand, and a desperate desire to be anywhere else in his heart.

"Welcome aboard, Commander Tucker," the Captain said pleasantly. "We are most grateful you are willing to help us. Lossuularr will take you to the engine room."

"Thank you."

Aalounn departed, leaving the two engineers alone. Tucker's tension level dropped significantly once the woman was gone. _At least this guy can't knock me up._ Then a moment of doubt struck him. _I hope._ "Which way to engineering?" he asked, hoping the job would be a quick and easy fix.

"This way. Please follow."

*****

"That coil's completely shot." Trip wiped grimy hands on the towel Lossuularr offered. "Thanks. This one here" He pointed to the culprit. "is so badly corroded it's one step short of disintegrating, and it's throwing your whole system out of whack. I don't suppose you have a spare handy?" he asked, suspecting it was a hopeless query.

Lossuularr shook his head. "No. This was the spare. We have done everything we can to keep it functioning until we reach our destination, but as you can see we have had little success."

"Yeah. Where're you headed?"

"Home. We have delivered our cargo, and we are heading back to Fojull."

"Is it far?"

"At warp speed, we are still a month away. At slower than warp" He trailed off, the implication clear.

Tucker shook his head. He knew the math; it would be years before they reached home at that rate. "You might get another few light-years out of that coil, but I wouldn't want to bet on you getting home on it. So there's no chance of a rescue from home then, huh." It was less a question than a statement.

"No. Our communications do not extend so far."

"How 'bout the other end? Where you dropped your cargo?"

"It is even more distant."

"Damn. Let me head back to _Enterprise_, talk to my captain, and see if we can't figure out something."

"It would be most appreciated. Can we offer you refreshment before you go?"

"No, thanks." Tucker was leery of alien hospitality. After his experiences with the Xyrillians, and Zobral and his people, and the alien muggers on Risa, he just felt more comfortable on his own ship. "I'll contact you after I've had a chance to talk to Captain Archer."

*****

Archer, Tucker, T'Pol, and Reed stood around the table in the situation room, discussing the issue of the Sosemma engines.

"Can we afford to give them the warp coil?" Archer asked. "I don't want to end up in a similar situation ourselves six months down the road."

"Yeah, we can spare it," Tucker assured him. "And I can rig it to work with their systems at least well enough to get them home."

"What would we get in return?" asked Reed. "Apart from their copious gratitude?"

Trip gave him an odd look, puzzled by his unusually snippy tones. It hadn't occurred to him that his lover might have similar reservations to his own regarding the Sosemma. "They've got a lot of medical supplies, according to our scans and what they told us. Maybe Phlox could use something? After the trades we made with the miners and all."

"You wouldn't rather swap for something your people can use?" put in Archer.

"We've got everything we need at the moment, Captain," answered Tucker with a shrug. "Medical supplies benefit everyone."

The captain looked to his Science Officer. "T'Pol? Do you have anything to add?"

"No," she answered. "I believe Mr. Tucker's suggestion is logical."

"That's a first," joked Tucker, with a wry smile at the Vulcan. She simply raised an eyebrow in reply.

Archer bit back a laugh at the exchange. "All right. Unless Malcolm has any objections?"

"No, sir," said the armory officer.

"Then let's make the trade. Trip, get the coil, and you and Doctor Phlox head back over to the _Aelouss_."

"Aye, sir."

*****

Three hours later, both ships were on their way. Lieutenant Reed was pleased to see the back of the alien vessel. He relaxed visibly when the Captain ordered Ensign Fraser to take the ship to warp. Fortunately, no one was looking at him to notice the change in his demeanor.

"It's a shame we're not going in their direction," said Sato unexpectedly.

"Ensign?" Archer looked at her questioningly.

"I've been reading over the database they sent us," she explained. "Their planet sounds beautiful, sir. And they did extend an open invitation."

"Perhaps another time, Hoshi."

"It may be a viable location for the crew to enjoy shore leave, Captain," put in T'Pol, surprising everyone. "At some future date," she amended.

"It may at that," agreed the Captain. "In fact, I'll be in my ready room reviewing the data. Maybe that future date shouldn't be too far in the future. You have the bridge, Sub-commander." He rose and exited to his ready room.

Now it was Ensign Fraser's turn to relax, although her reaction was more subtle than Reed's had been. The departure of the captain put her in more familiar territory; she'd worked with T'Pol, Reed, and Sato singly or in combination a number of times. It was only the presence of Archer that had made her nervous.

_Now that there're only two hours of the shift left,_ she thought with irony. _On the up side, only two hours to go, and I haven't fucked anything up yet._

A comm line opened, and Cormack's voice came through. "Armory to Lieutenant Reed."

"Reed here. Go ahead," he replied from the tactical station.

"Request your assistance here, Lieutenant. We're having trouble with the targeting scanners on the torpedoes again."

After a quick glance at T'Pol for clearance, he said, "I'm on my way, Ensign. Reed out."

At the helm, Fraser had stiffened at the sound of Cormack's voice. Modulated through the ship's comm it sounded different than it had in person. She finally figured out where she knew the blonde woman from, and it was all she could do to keep from exclaiming out loud. She desperately wanted to talk to Mae, but there was no way until the end of Alpha-shift. Now even more than before, the last two hours of her shift couldn't go fast enough.

*****

The door chimed at precisely 16:30 hours.

"Come in," called Doctor Douglas.

Stephanie entered the office, closing the door behind her. "Hey, Kyrin," she said, taking a seat on the room's small sofa.

"Hello. How are you?"

"Good. Good."

There was a pause.

"You said you wanted to see me," Douglas started the ball rolling. "If memory serves, it was about the recent recurring dream you had."

"Yeah. You know how I told you I remembered more of it?" Douglas nodded. "I wrote it down." She pulled a datapad from her pocket and handed it over the desk to him.

The psychiatrist looked at it carefully. "Are these the people you saw in the pictures?" This time it was Cormack's turn to nod. "I recognize many of these names," he continued, still examining the list. Then suddenly Douglas's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Travis Mayweather?" Cormack nodded again. "But you said everyone in the dream was dead."

"And he was. At least, we thought he was."

"I see." He did see. Mayweather had actually come by earlier that day to talk to him about the incident in question. Liz Cutler, too, had sought his assistance on the matter. "But the first time you had this dream was before we encountered the alien repair station where Ensign Mayweather was abducted."

"Yeah."

"This list" He indicated the pad. "doesn't identify everyone in the pictures."

"Not by a long shot," Cormack affirmed. "But" Here she hesitated.

"Go on," Douglas urged gently.

"Okay, maybe I'm just paranoid, but There's a definite pattern, isn't there? To the people in the pictures. Aside from just being dead, I mean."

"I certainly appears that way. What do you think about that?"

"What do I think? I think I'm going nuts, is what I think." She curled her feet up under herself and sat back deeper into the cushions of the couch. "I mean, it's one thing to have a dream about historical figures, people you can identify who you know have been dead for years, centuries even, but Travis, and the others—" She stopped herself, not knowing what to say. "That's just freaky."

"Tell me, is there a history of precognition in your family?" asked Douglas gently.

"What? Are you kidding? No! That's just—crazy."

"Not necessarily. There's been a lot of study done on the subject of extrasensory perception, including such sub-fields as telepathy, telekinesis, and precognition."

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa! You are totally jumping the gun here, Kyrin. I'm no psychic."

"It's all right, Stephanie. There's nothing wrong with it if you are or you aren't. Although you did score in a high percentile on the standard Starfleet ESP tests."

"What?!" she exclaimed again. "No, I didn't."

"I know Starfleet doesn't release the test results as a standard procedure, but they are available if you'd like to see them."

"No. No, I don't." Stephanie wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold.

Douglas recognized her increasingly defensive posture and eased off. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," denied Cormack. "It's just you're supposed to be the sane one here, and you're talking crazy shit. I mean, if I were—what did you call it? Precognitive?" Douglas nodded. "That'd mean that everyone in that dream—everyone I can't identify—well, that'd mean" She trailed off. She didn't want to think about what that implied. "No."

"It's all right," Kyrin said once more. He was surprised at her vehement denials. In his experience, people were generally pleased to learn they had a high ESP rating. This obviously wasn't the case with Stephanie. "If we assume for the moment that you're _not_ precognitive—"

"Damn straight."

"—and I admit it is quite a leap to make to assume you are—how would you explain the dream?"

"I wouldn't." Stephanie paused, knowing she wasn't going to get away with this simple answer. "I was just dreaming about the history of Earth's space programs. So, why not see Travis in that dream?"

"And the fact that everyone one on this list," the psychiatrist said, indicating the pad she'd given him, "died in the line of duty, if not in space itself, is irrelevant?"

"You know what?" Cormack sat up suddenly, swinging her feet back out from under her and planting them firmly on the floor. "I think I'd better go."

She rose, and so did Douglas. "Wait," said the doctor. Cormack paused. "I know you don't want to talk about this right now, and that's fine. But please don't simply dismiss what I've said. Think about it. That's all. Will you do that?" He knew it was pointless to try to convince her to stay. He'd worked with her long enough to know that when she made her mind up to leave, she was going to leave.

Stephanie took a deep breath and slowly let it out through her nose. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. That I can do."

"Thank you."

"I'll catch you later." Cormack quickly made her escape.

Douglas sat back down behind his desk and shook his head. _Why do I ever bother to schedule a full session for her? She nearly always sprints out of here before her time is up._

*****

The mess hall was crowded and noisy. For no reason Cormack could figure, the crew were particularly boisterous this evening. She spotted Liz and Travis through the throng. The couple sat at a table in the corner, as far from the bustle of the crowd as possible. Stephanie envied their relatively secluded spot.

"What up with this place tonight, eh?" she wondered aloud to her companion. "You'd think it was a holiday or something."

"It's Friday night," Lawless answered with a shrug.

"As if that mattered out here."

"We have to hang on to some Earth-based biases or we'll go crazy. The illusion of a 'week-end' seems like a perfectly reasonable one to me. Besides, that means it's movie night tomorrow night. They're running _Army of Darkness_." She grinned.

"That is a good one," Stephanie admitted, smiling a little at her friend's glee over the B-movie. " But you know me and large groups of people," she continued, subdued. The two were slowly making their way through the food line, flanked on either side by burly, looming engineering crewmen.

"That didn't seem to bother you at your birthday party," said Mae.

"Totally different," argued Stephanie.

"What about the screaming crowds of adoring fans at your concerts?"

"Shut _up_!" exclaimed Cormack. She looked around quickly and was relieved to see that no one seemed to have overheard Mae's comment. "Do I have to kill you?" she snarled under her breath.

Lawless laughed. "Sorry. I thought a joke might loosen you up. I guess I was wrong."

"You were." At last they reached the food, and Cormack happily claimed a plate of steak and heaping mashed potatoes in mushroom gravy. "Thank the gods! I'm in the mood for comfort food tonight."

"Everything okay?" asked Mae, picking a plate of pad thai and taking a moment to shake extra hot pepper flakes onto it.

"Yeah. Just been a long day, I guess."

They continued to move with the flow of the crowd up to the drinks dispenser. Cormack ordered a sparkling cider, and Lawless opted for a beer. Stephanie raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "It's Friday," Mae repeated. "And like you said, it's been a long day."

"I just meant I'd've let you use my alcohol ration code."

"Next time."

The pair managed to find a table just being vacated by a group of crewmen, and claimed it instantly.

"It's almost as bad as being back in Starfleet training," commented Stephanie.

"The food's better."

"True."

"There you are!" exclaimed a new voice.

Cormack and Lawless both started. "Hey, Bonnie," said Mae. "What's up?"

"I figured out—" But Fraser's eye caught sight of Cormack, and she stopped short. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," replied Stephanie.

"You figured out what?" asked Mae.

"Huh? Oh. Never mind. Hella crazy in here tonight, eh?" Fraser said, looking around the mess hall.

"It's a mad house," agreed her bunkmate. "If you can find some food, why don't you join us?"

"Yeah. That'd be cool." But she didn't move. She glanced at Cormack, then glanced away.

"Food's that way," the blonde woman said, pointing her fork in the direction of the buffet. The crowd around it had thinned noticeably in the past few minutes.

"Right. Be right back." She quickly departed and tacked herself onto the line of people waiting to get their dinners.

"Okay. That was weird," said Cormack. "Or is she usually like that?"

"Not usually," answered Lawless, glancing over her shoulder at her unexpectedly squirrelly roommate. "Maybe she's just wound up from her first Alpha-shift?" she suggested doubtfully.

"Maybe," agreed Stephanie, equally dubious. She watched the woman from across the room. "She looks like she's going to jump out of her skin, doesn't she? It's like she has some exciting toy she wants to play with but she knows she has to wait until her chores are done."

Mae eyed her. "Why do I think I just got a glimpse into your childhood?"

"Oh, like you weren't the same whenever you got a new hyperspanner or sonic screwdriver for your toolkit as a kid."

"I never denied it." Lawless smiled too innocently, saying, "I still get that way when I get a newtool."

Cormack paused, a bite of steak half way to her mouth. "Oh my gods. You have been hanging out with me way too long. That was awful."

"Thanks. Coming from you, that's a real compliment."

Stephanie cocked her head to one side, and looked at her friend slyly. She made a point of using her teeth to suggestively slide the bite of meat from her waiting fork and into her mouth, punctuating the action with playful snarl.

Lawless burst out laughing.

Fraser arrived at the table, having just caught Cormack's motion. "I'd like to get me some of that action," she quipped. Her comment made Mae laugh harder. Cormack almost choked, and her eyes watered. "Sorry," said Fraser, not in the least apologetic, setting down her plate and taking a seat.

Stephanie swallowed the bite of steak with difficulty. "S'okay," she said. She coughed and cleared her throat. "I just wasn't prepared. I should be able to take as good as I give." She took a sip of cider.

Bonnie seemed to have lost her earlier skittishness and had settled right into the conversation. "Oo! I hope so," she replied. "You look like quite a giver." She took a mouthful of mashed potatoes, eyes watching for the armory officer's reaction to her words. She was gratified to see the blonde woman smile widely.

"So how was your first day on Alpha-shift?" Cormack asked, chuckling.

"Not bad. I didn't screw anything up, and the ship is still in one piece. I think the Captain might actually let me fly her again sometime."

"Right on," said Mae. "I told you you'd be fine."

"Did you get to see the aliens?" asked Stephanie.

"No." Bonnie sounded disappointed. "They never transmitted a visual image. It totally sucked."

"Hang on. Didn't anyone get to see them besides Commander Tucker?"

"I don't think so."

"I bet it was the one time he didn't have his camera with him, either," put in Mae around a bite of spicy shrimp.

"Wonder what they looked like?" pondered Cormack.

"Better than the _Estvali_, I hope."

Stephanie shuddered. "Gods, don't remind me. Honestly, I thought it was a universal rule that furry things with big eyes were supposed to be cute. Sad to learn I was wrong."

Her companions laughed.

Across the room, two figures were discussing a similar topic.

"I wish I could have met one of them," Liz said.

"I'd have been happy just to catch a glimpse of one," agreed Travis. "But I heard they never transmitted a visual image. I wonder why?"

"Maybe their visual communications were down," suggested the exobiologist.

"Then why didn't they ask Commander Tucker to fix that, too?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were more concerned about getting the engines running so they could get home. Then they could fix the transmitter themselves on the way? Or maybe it was a cultural thing." Liz was on a roll now. "Some ancient Earth cultures believed that photographs would steal their souls. It could be something similar. Or maybe they simply aren't overly eye-oriented, and visual communication hasn't ever been a priority to them."

Travis was happy to see Liz so energized, and he wanted to keep her talking. "What do you mean by 'overly eye-oriented'?" he asked.

"Just that. I read some of the database they gave us. No, there weren't any pictures," she added hastily, guessing at his next question. "But their evolution followed a reptilian rather than mammalian course. I'm suggesting that maybe their sense of smell is more the focus of their senses than their eyes."

"Then I sure hope Commander Tucker took a shower before heading over there!" joked the helmsman.

Liz laughed, and it warmed Travis's heart. She hadn't told him any specifics about her meeting with Doctor Douglas, but it must have done her some good as whatever had been bothering her last night seemed to be past. It didn't surprise him. He, too, had spoken to the ship's counselor today, and he was feeling much more settled than he had last night. _And I couldn't really remember what I dreamed about,_ he thought. _Must have been a lot tougher for Liz._

"Travis, you're awful!" said the pretty brunette, still chuckling. "What would he say if he heard you say that?"

They both knew the running joke about Tucker's gentlemanly manner. He truly was a gentleman when it came to meeting and working with new alien species; it just didn't always help him. 

"He'd probably insist that he was a perfect gentleman." Travis flashed his brilliant smile, and the couple laughed again. 

Liz looked at Travis, admiring his bright smile and rich brown eyes. She could have happily spent the rest of the evening just staring into warm depths of those eyes. It affirmed her belief that she had reached the right conclusion that afternoon in the ship's counselor's office. _Yeah,_ she thought. _He's definitely worth it._

Travis noticed her staring at him. "What?" he asked, pleased but puzzled by the intensity of her gaze.

"You," said Liz simply. "I just love you. A lot."

The words were said with such sweet sincerity that Travis felt his heart melt. 

"Cool," he replied, smiling even more broadly than before. "I love you, too."

"Cool," she echoed, and chuckled warmly.

The Sosemma were a popular topic of conversation that evening. At yet another table, Lieutenant Reed took a bite of his steak and chewed it thoughtfully. He washed it down with a sip of water, and then looked at his partner.

"What was it like over there?" he asked.

"Like an engine room," answered Trip with a shrug. "I wish I could tell you more, but it was all pretty ordinary. Kind of disappointing, in a way. An alien ship ought to look alien, you know?"

"What about the Sosemma?"

"_They_ looked alien enough.""

"Really? In what way?"

"They were humanoid, but they were sort oflizardy."

"Lizardy?" echoed Malcolm. "Care to be more specific?"

"Like they'd evolved from lizards instead of mammals, you know?"

"I had made that assumption," said Reed dryly.

Trip shrugged. He knew his partner would want more detail. "The ones I saw, and I only saw the two, were greenish-brown. And their skin was textured. At least it looked like it," he quickly amended. "Honestly, I didn't get close enough to touch either of them. Lucky they don't have the cultural habit of shaking hands."

Malcolm nodded. Now that his initial concerns were put to rest, he took the next logical step. "So," he began, "there weren't any holographic rooms or boxes of telepathic pebbles?"

"I wouldn't know. I wouldn't _want_ to know. All is saw over there was the airlock and the engine room and the corridors that connected them." Trip eyed him closely across the table. "Why d'you want to know?"

"Justwondering," Malcolm said.

"Malcolm, you know I'd never do anything to jeopardize what we have. I love you."

"I know."

"Then why'd you ask that question?"

Reed thought for a moment, trying to put into words what had prompted his inquiry without implying that he was doubting Trip's faithfulness. "It was the Xyrillian connection," he finally admitted.

Now Tucker nodded. "Yeah. I thought a lot about that, too. That's what made me kind of paranoid about going over to the _Aelouss_ in the first place. You know me. I'm not usually so reluctant to meet new people."

"Indeed. Quite the opposite, in fact," agreed Malcolm with a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

"Now what does that mean?" demanded Trip, suddenly defensive.

His partner started, surprised at his sharp response. "Nothing. Actually, I was just wishing I was half as good at making friends as you are. That's all."

"Sorry. Sorry," Trip said, backing down. "I'm overreacting. I've just been on edge all day."

"So have I," said Malcolm, chagrined. "And for pretty much the same reasons, I'd say. It's ridiculous, isn't it? The two of us reacting the way we did?"

"I don't think so, but I'm one of the two of us, so I'm not real objective." Both men chuckled at the truth of it. "I'm glad we've seen the last of the Sosemma," Trip continued. "Next time someone from Starfleet talks to them, I hope it'll be the next ship out here instead of us."

"Agreed. Although" Malcolm hesitated, then decided Trip would hear it from the captain directly soon enough. "Did you know the Captain is considering taking the Sosemma up on their offer of shore leave facilities?"

Tucker paled visibly. "Really?" Reed nodded. "Damn. Well," he added, a thought occurring to him, "then it should be the people who didn't get shore leave on Risa who get to go. Right?"

"Yes," agreed Malcolm eagerly. He hadn't thought of that. "Excellent suggestion. Perfectly logical."

"Hell. I've been logical twice in one day? That must be some sort of record," joked Trip. "T'Pol would never believe it."

"Then I suggest we don't tell her."

"Good idea. No point in disturbing her world view."

Reed laughed. "Quite."

They continued their meal in silence for a little while. Eventually, the engineer broke it. "So, it's movie night tomorrow."

Reed was wary; he knew what was playing. "Yes. You're not going to suggest we actually go to see it, are you?"

"Actually, I was going to suggest a night in."

"Were you?" Now Malcolm smiled a little.

"Uh-huh."

"We're not going to be in danger ofinterruptions again, are we?" The last time they'd opted to stay in on movie night, it had resulted in Malcolm's nose being broken. The memory was still quite fresh, despite the time that had passed since the accident.

"I'll put another 'Do Not Disturb' on our comms. Like I did the night I made it up to you for breaking you nose." Here Trip smiled lasciviously, and the expression was echoed by his lover.

"The Captain's going to get suspicious if he keeps seeing a DND order on both our comms at the same time."

"No, he won't," countered Trip. "He's a grown-up. I think he can figure out what we're up to."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Malcolm, laughing self-consciously. "That's certainly going to add to the atmosphere of the evening."

"I thought you liked the idea of a little danger of being caught. What about back on Dakala? When we were camping?"

"That's completely different," Reed insisted. Then he paused, considering. "Still, I suppose blocking the comms is better than risking another untimely interruption."

"Good. Because I've got some ideas that it just wouldn't do to have interrupted."

Malcolm glanced at his lover, a look of curiosity and anticipation on his face. "Is that so?"

"It is," answered Trip with a smug grin.

"Why wait until tomorrow, in that case? I don't have any pressing plans this evening."

"Because, I want to make you wait. It's part of the fun."

"Now I am intrigued." He remembered the fun they'd had the night Tucker had "apologized" for the broken nose, and wondered if it would be something similar.

"Good," Tucker said again.

"You're not even going to give me a hint?" asked Malcolm sweetly. He turned on his most charming smile. 

It was almost enough to make the engineer cave, but Trip remained resolute. "Nope."

"It's going to be on my mind all night and all day, now, you realize."

"That's the idea."

Malcolm chuckled, knowing he'd been defeated this round. Trip's mind was obviously made up. Whatever was coming was going to remain a secret until the time arrived. "All right," he acceded. "No more questions. But you'll have only yourself to blame if the ship is suddenly in need of defense tomorrow, and I'm too distracted to do anything about it."

"Never happen," countered Trip.

"You don't know the extent of your own skills."

Trip smiled slowly. "That's real gratifying to learn," he said. "I'll remember that."

*****  
End Log 2:6  
_(Completed 8 Nov 02)_

Continued in Log 2:7


	7. Log 2:7

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:7**: (Takes place during _The Seventh_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Cormack sat impatiently on the biobed. A curtain separated the medical bay from the rest of sickbay, giving her a modicum of privacy. There was a lengthy line of crewmembers beyond the curtain, and as she had waited for her turn several others had passed her on their way out. Lieutenant Reed had been among them. He'd given her a smile and a nod of encouragement as he'd gone by.

Phlox pressed a hypospray against Cormack's neck, and she flinched instinctively. "I'm sorry, Ensign. Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's just a conditioned response. I don't like hypos."

"Ah, yes. I remember your dislike of them. You're free to go. Please come see me if you suffer any of the potential side effects."

"Side effects?" demanded the ensign. She'd stood up and was ready to make a speedy exit when the doctor's words stopped her in her tracks. "You didn't mention the side effects before you gave me the shot."

"Didn't I? I'm very sorry," said Phlox, surprised. "I've warned so many people already, perhaps I lost track for a moment."

"So what are these side effects?"

"Headache, nausea, and diarrhea are the most common. Very few people ever suffer from all of them—if they experience any at all. And one's reaction is usually mild."

"Great," snapped Cormack.

Phlox's expression remained pleasant, but there was a slight edge to his voice. "It's not as if you were going to be exempt from the inoculation, Ensign. The lymphatic virus I detected this morning is quite contagious; everyone must be inoculated. You're welcome to return at any time if you feel any ill effects."

"Thanks." She shook her head. "Sorry I snapped at you, Doc."

"Apology accepted. Now please move along. I still have a number of people to see."

"Right." Stephanie stepped outside the curtain. She looked at the crewman who was next in line. "Have fun," she said flatly.

She left sickbay and hailed a lift, ready to return to work. She was looking forward to getting back to recalibrating the torpedo launchers. She heaved a sigh as the turbolift made its quick descent to F-deck.

"Hey, Lieutenant," she called as she entered the armory.

Reed glanced up and smiled. "Welcome back. Everything go all right in sickbay?"

"As all right as possible, I guess. Ask me in a couple of hours when I'm puking my guts up." She didn't really expect it to happen, but she was feeling grumpy and a bit pugnacious.

"Thank you for that lovely imagery, Ensign," said Reed dryly.

"Sorry. How's the recalibration going?"

"Slowly, but on schedule." A red light flashed suddenly on the control panel in front of him. "Of course, I spoke too soon." He ran a quick query to find the source of the problem. "Damn. It's a fault in the power conduit in the port launch tube."

"Where?" asked Cormack, looking at the computer screen. She spotted it the same time Reed spoke.

"There," he said, pointing.

"Damn is right. We can't access that through the jefferies tubes. I'll have to go into the launch tube proper. Give me a second to grab a toolkit."

"I can go," offered Reed. He opened the launch tube hatch.

"It's okay, Lieutenant. I'm over that little claustrophobia issue, remember? Besides, with those shoulders, you'll just get stuck." She crossed the armory and opened a locker, retrieving a standard toolkit from its interior. She headed to the port launch tube. "Just don't shoot me out the other end, eh?" she joked.

"I'll try not to," he replied lightly. He handed her a communicator, which the ensign tucked into a sleeve pocket. "The fault is only about four meters in, but it'll be easier to use a communicator than trying to shout at each other."

"Thanks. That's a good point," agreed Cormack. She laid down on the torpedo pad and wriggled her way into the launch tube, pushing the toolkit before her.

Twenty minutes later, she was sincerely regretting her actions. Fortunately, she was almost done. _One last screw to replace,_ she reassured herself, _and you can get out of here and go die somewhere._ The "possible side effects" Phlox had spoken of were making their presence known. Her head throbbed worse than any hangover she'd ever experienced, and the pain was causing her stomach to do unnatural flip-flops.

After what seemed like forever, she had the small access panel back in place and was ready to come out. She pushed herself back toward the launch tube's opening, dragging the toolkit with her. The noise of the plastic case scraping on the metal tube was nearly enough to send her over the edge, but she clamped her mouth shut and gritted her teeth, and finally she was out.

"Well done, Ensign," said Reed as she emerged.

Cormack didn't hear him. Letting go of the toolkit, she slid unceremoniously off the torpedo pad and onto the deck. She leaned against the bulkhead and let her head rest on her knees. Hiding her eyes behind her arms, she tried to block out any and all light.

"Stephanie?" Malcolm asked, concerned. He knelt next to her, placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Headache," she mumbled indistinctly.

"What?"

"Headache. Nausea."

Now Reed understood. These were two of the three things Phlox had warned him might accompany the inoculations against the lymphatic virus he'd detected that morning. "Can I get you anything?"

"Uh-huh." Cormack took a steadying breath, willing back the nausea. "Phloxand a bucketand not in that order."

*****

It was Ensign Cutler who responded to the hail from the armory. She squatted next to her bunkmate and scanned her quickly. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she ran the medical scanner over her friend.

"Like shit," was Stephanie's tight-lipped reply. Malcolm had found an empty storage canister, and she'd already used it rid her stomach of what little remained of her breakfast. Since then, she'd been alternately shivering against the bulkhead and dry heaving into the container.

"You're having an allergic reaction to the vaccine," Cutler told her. She pulled out a hypospray. "This will calm your stomach and ease your headache enough to get you to sickbay where the doctor can take a closer look. Okay?" She pressed the hypo against Cormack's neck; again, the blonde woman winced in reaction. "Sorry. Now just try to relax. It shouldn't take long."

"Is she going to be all right, Ensign?" asked Reed, worry creasing his brow.

"Yes, sir," Cutler assured him.

Already, Cormack looked better. She was still pasty white, but her shivering had stopped and she appeared to relax a little.

"Can you stand?" Liz asked her. "Or should I order a litter?"

"I can stand," said Cormack weakly. "I think." With the help of Liz and Malcolm, she rose. She took a moment to get her balance.

"Do you need a hand getting to sickbay?" offered the lieutenant.

"No, thanks," Stephanie said. "I can make it."

Liz put an arm around her. "Lean on me," she said. The pair made their way unsteadily into the corridor and to the nearest turbolift. Cutler hailed the lift and they stepped inside. Stephanie moaned involuntarily at the motion as it ascended. "Shh. It's okay. We're nearly there."

It wasn't far to sickbay, and they made it the rest of the way without mishap. The last of the crewmembers to be inoculated was just leaving. He gave the women a dubious look.

"You _should_ worry," Cormack told him, her voice harsh from vomiting. "This could be you in half an hour."

"You're not helping," Liz whispered as the crewman retreated swiftly.

"I don't care."

"Doctor?" called Cutler as they entered sickbay.

"Hello," said Phlox, emerging from the back of the large, curved room. He was surprised to see two women facing him. He'd expected the numerous calls complaining of the various ailments resulting from the vaccinations. He'd logically assumed the call from the armory would be yet another. "What's the trouble?" he asked. He put an arm around the ailing ensign, and between him and Cutler, they got Cormack to the central biobed.

"Allergic reaction to the vaccine," said Liz quickly.

"Try to relax, Ensign," Phlox said to Cormack. "I just need to take a brief scan." Cormack nodded weakly. Phlox slid the bed into the imaging chamber, and sealed it. In moments the scanner had done its job, and he opened it once again. The bed slid smoothly out—but not smoothly enough for Stephanie.

She sat up immediately, her eyes wide. One hand covered her mouth, the other clutched her stomach.

Recognizing the signs, the doctor grabbed a bio-waste pan and held it under her chin. It served little purpose. Cormack shook as the dry heaves wracked her body, bringing nothing more up. She continued to gasp and gag uselessly.

Phlox regarded the panels above the imaging chamber, assessing the situation. "What did you give her?" he asked Cutler.

"Ten c.c.s of inoprovaline. It seemed to help, but now"

"Take this, just in case." He handed her the pan before stepping to a medicine locker.

Liz took the pan and held it in one hand before her friend. She wrapped her free arm around Stephanie, helping hold her steady.

Phlox returned quickly and administered another hypospray to Cormack's neck. Almost immediately her violent reactions ceased. She stopped choking and began to breathe more normally. Liz set the pan aside, but continued to hold onto her. 

Stephanie leaned heavily against her bunkmate, unable to remain upright on her own. She took a slow, deep breath. "Somebody, please, kill me now," she said weakly.

"No such luck, I'm afraid," teased Liz consolingly. "Lie down." She eased the blonde woman down so she was once more lying on the biobed. Instinctively, Cormack rolled onto her side and curled up into a fetal position. Liz didn't like the wan look on her friend's face. She glanced at Phlox. "I'll get a blanket."

"Thank you, Ensign." Phlox examined the panel above Cormack's head once more, pleased to see the medicine he'd given her was working as it should. "We're going to have to clear the vaccine I gave you earlier out of you system," he informed her. "I've never seen anyone react so severely to it. It's most unusual."

Cutler returned with the blanket and spread it over Cormack. She'd also brought a hot washcloth with her. "What can I do, Doctor?" she asked as she gently wiped the chilled sweat from Stephanie's face.

"Regulan blood worms," Phlox said with authority. "They're the most efficient method of clearing toxins from the blood. And we'll need a saline I.V. She's very dehydrated."

Cormack heard his words and wanted to protest, but she was too exhausted and miserable to say anything. _Later,_ her spinning mind promised her. _I'll protest the worms later._

*****

"Come on in," called Trip at the sound of the door chime.

Reed entered the captain's ready room a bit reluctantly, uncomfortable to be there when the captain wasn't even on the ship. "I've finished recalibrating the torpedo launchers, and I've redirected the computer resources back to Main Engineering," he informed the Acting Captain, handing over a datapad. "We can bring the warp engines back online anytime now."

Trip lit up at this information. "That's the first good news I've heard all day," he said. He glanced at the chronometer that sat on the desk. It read 2203. "And it's been a hell of a long day!" He sat back heavily in the chair.

"You'll get no argument from me," replied Malcolm. He pulled up another chair and sat. "Half my team is down with a variety of ailments from that vaccine Phlox gave everyone."

"Damn. I knew something like this'd happen. A bunch of my people are out, too. Phlox promised it'd only last a couple of days, though. And it needed to be done." The tone of his voice indicated he sincerely needed confirmation on this point.

Reed nodded. "It did. Better to have a crew with a few headaches and upset stomachs than suffering from a lymphatic virus." He'd been fighting off a mild headache, himself, since not long after his own inoculation that afternoon. He decided not to mention it to his partner. Trip obviously felt guilty for giving Phlox the go-ahead to vaccinate everyone. He didn't need to add to it. Instead, Malcolm decided to change the subject.

"How did your impersonation act go?" he asked.

Trip sank further into the chair. "Fine, I suppose. I must have fooled Captain Tavek, or he wouldn't have given me that 'important message' Admiral Forrest sent to the Captain."

"What was the message, anyway?" Reed wanted to know. "Or is it classified?"

"No, it's not classified."

"So, what is it?"

"Cal beat Stanford seven to three."

There was a stunned silence in the ready room. "You're joking," Malcolm said at last.

"I wish I was."

"You went through all that just to get a water-polo score?" He tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it.

Tucker gave him an annoyed but sheepish look. "Don't mention it to anyone else, okay? My reputation is dubious enough. I don't need this little incident added to it."

"No one will ever hear it from me, I promise you," pledged Reed. "But you might want to take the extra rank insignia from your uniform."

"Huh?" Trip sat up straighter and looked down at himself. He was still sporting the four pips indicative of a Starfleet Captain, which he'd donned before contacting the captain of the _Nyran_. "Thank you," he said sincerely, removing the extra pip. He relaxed noticeably with it off. "You hungry? Or did you already have dinner?"

"I'm famished," said Malcolm.

"Join me in the mess hall? Assuming there's anything left."

"Not the Captain's Mess?" asked his partner, unable to resist the gibe.

His question only garnered him another pursed-lipped glare. "I don't think so. Lunch was plenty."

"All right." Both men rose. "Do you mind if we make a quick stop at sickbay on the way?"

"Something wrong?" He was immediately concerned.

Reed was glad he hadn't mentioned his headache. "I just wanted to check on Ensign Cormack."

"Right. Of course." Caught up in his own immediate concerns, the Acting Captain had forgotten about Cormack. He'd been notified by Phlox of the ensign's violent reaction to the inoculation, but it had slipped his mind.

"I can meet you in the mess hall after I've seen her, if you'd prefer," offered Malcolm

"No, no. I should check up on her, too. She's a member of my crew," he added firmly. He willfully set aside his personal feelings about blonde woman. "Let's go see her."

*****

Reed was pleased to see Cormack looking so much better than she had that afternoon. She was still pale, and she looked drained, but the lines of pain were gone from her face and she was no longer shivering.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Rotten," answered Stephanie. Her voice was rough from the trauma her throat had undergone. "But less rotten than before. I hate to admit it, but those Regulan blood worms of the doc's really know what they're doing."

Malcolm blanched. His own experience with the invertebrates wasn't a pleasant memory. "You think so? I can't abide the things myself." He glanced over his shoulder and caught Trip's eye, then turned back to the woman on the biobed. "There's someone else here to see you. He wanted to make certain you were doing all right."

The perplexed look on Cormack's face only increased when Reed stepped aside to reveal Tucker. The Acting Captain stepped forward, and Reed subtly faded into the background—not far, but out of the way.

"You look like hell, Ensign," Trip said, by way of a hello.

Reed flinched internally. _Not the opening line I'd have gone with,_ he thought. He continued to watch their interaction carefully, hoping to see some breaking down of the barriers Tucker had built between himself and the ensign.

"Yes, sir," said Cormack. "I expect so."

"But the doc says you're doing better." His stomach gave a sympathetic lurch as he looked at her. He'd been in her position more than once, and he knew how much it sucked. She appeared tired and very vulnerable lying there, plugged into an I.V. and with all sorts of medical readouts glowing on the screen above the biobed.

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

It was a fascinating study, when Reed managed to distance himself from the scene enough to be objective. He'd never seen Trip so uncomfortable around anyone. It puzzled him profoundly.

"I'm sorry you had to go through such a rotten time," the commander continued.

"Thank you, sir," Cormack replied, grateful but still completely bewildered. She supposed it made sense on some level. He was in command and he wanted to make sure his crew were all right, so he'd stopped in to see her.

"Wellfeel better." Trip was at a loss as to what else to say. It was unusual for him. He didn't have trouble thinking of things under normal circumstances. He'd never had trouble talking to Malcolm or Jon or anyone else he'd visited in sickbay over the course of their mission. _That was different,_ he said to himself. He turned to go, then paused and looked back at her. "You're excused from duty 'til you're feeling better, of course," he said.

"Yes, sir. That's what Doctor Phlox told me."

"Right. Well" he said again, "I'll see ya later." He turned to go once more, desperate to escape the awkward and uncomfortable situation.

"Sir?" said Cormack.

He paused and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for checking up on me. I appreciate it."

"Sure. No problem." He glanced at Malcolm. "I'll wait for you outside," he mumbled to the lieutenant before making his escape.

There was silence in the medical bay for several seconds after Tucker's hasty departure. 

"So, did you put him up to that?" asked Stephanie finally.

"No," answered Malcolm. "It was his idea. He is trying, you know."

"I know. I just wish there was something I could do."

"You can get better."

"I mean about him and me," she said, mildly chiding. She recognized Reed's attempt to change the subject, and wouldn't let him. "If I knew what I'd done to make him hate me, I'd apologize."

"He doesn't hate you!" exclaimed Malcolm immediately.

"Okay. But he dislikes me. You can't deny that." She yawned.

"I'll go. You're tired."

"Yeah, I am. I really appreciate you stopping by, Malcolm. I hate being stuck in here."

"I know the feeling," he agreed wholeheartedly. "At least Phlox hasn't put you in decon."

"What?"

"Without the vaccine in your system, you're vulnerable to the lymphatic virus. You're lucky he hasn't quarantined you in decon to keep you clear of it until the air scrubbers have cleaned it from the ship's atmosphere."

"Oh my gods!" whispered Stephanie with as much vehemence as she could muster. "Don't give him any _ideas_!"

Malcolm chuckled softly, though the issue still bothered him. "Sorry. Will the doctor be releasing you tomorrow, do you think?" he asked, offering the opposite possibility to being quarantined in the hopes of cheering her up.

"He said maybe when I asked. I'm trying to be good so he won't make me stay."

"Very wise. I'd better go. I'll come see you tomorrow, wherever you are."

"Thanks." Cormack yawned again, tried to stifle it with the hand not hooked up to the I.V.

"Sleep well."

"You, too."

Malcolm slipped quietly out of the medical bay, shutting the curtain behind him. He hesitated only briefly before approaching Phlox.

"Doctor," he began softly, "I'm a bit concerned about Ensign Cormack."

"She'll be just fine, Lieutenant," the Denobulan assured him. "It was a particularly nasty reaction, I'll admit, but there won't be any permanent ill effects."

"It's not that." He hated to go against Stephanie's wishes, but felt in this case it was necessary. "I'm concerned that without the vaccination, she's susceptible to the lymphatic virus. Shouldn't she be quarantined to protect her? Perhaps in her quarters?" he added hastily. He felt guilty about making the suggestion at all; he wasn't going to be the one to suggest decon.

"Not at all. I did a blood work-up on her once we got her system settled. I'm happy to say the vaccine did its job before causing all its nasty little problems. It turned out it was the inactive ingredients in it that were causing all the trouble for her."

"Inactive ingredients?" Like all armory personnel, Reed was a trained field medic, but that training hadn't gone into great depth on medicinal compounds.

"The inert carrier solution for the actual inoculant," Phlox explained. "It may also ease your mind to know that I'm also carefully monitoring the ship's air filtration system. The computer will alert me immediately if the virus spreads, or when it's been cleared from the atmosphere. Until then, Ensign Cormack will be fine right where she is."

Reed nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Reed emerged from sickbay to find Tucker waiting in the corridor as promised. They strolled toward the mess hall in silence.

Finally, Malcolm spoke. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

Trip shook his head. "I guess not."

"I really wish I knew what the problem was between you two."

The engineer shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.

"She'd like to know, as well," Malcolm added. "She said she'd apologize, if only she knew what for."

"I don't know what for, Malcolm," said Trip abruptly. "Can we not talk about this right now? If you remember, I didn't exactly get lunch, and I'm real hungry."

Reed did remember. He and Phlox had rather unkindly ganged up on Acting Captain Tucker that afternoon in the captain's private dining room. Malcolm had found that while he and the Denobulan often disagreed about methods and procedures, they actually had a lot more in common than not. In fact, Reed had long ago discovered Phlox had quite an interesting sense of humor. Together, they'd played Trip a little cruelly over lunch.

_He needed it,_ Reed told himself. _He was getting a bit big for his britches._ And it hadn't just been his own and Phlox's interruptions that had kept the commander from his meal. Hoshi had called in twice with requests from Captain Tavek of the Vulcan ship _Nyran_ to speak with Captain Archer.

He decided to let the subject of Ensign Cormack go for the time being, as something of an apology for his earlier teasing. "Let me buy you a drink," he said as they entered the quiet mess hall. "I think after the day you've had, you've earned it."

Trip was sorely tempted, but declined. "Can I take a rain-check? Just until the Captain gets back? I don't want to do anything that might impair my judgement while I'm Acting Captain." _I've made poor enough choices today without the help of alcohol,_ he thought sardonically.

"Sure," agreed Malcolm. He smiled. "Just name the time and place."

*****

Ensign Fraser surreptitiously eyed her bunkmate across the breakfast table, judging whether or not it was a good time to begin her inquisition. She decided it was.

"How much do you know about Ensign Cormack?" asked Fraser suddenly.

The question caught Lawless off guard. "Huh?" she said. When her brain finally processed the question, she added, "I know she's still in sickbay. Why?"

This was news to Fraser. "She's in sickbay? What happened?"

"Allergic reaction to the vaccine. Liz said Doctor Phlox had to use Regulan blood worms to get it out of her blood stream."

Both women squirmed at the thought. "Ugh," said Bonnie. "She's going to be okay though, isn't she?"

"Yeah. In a couple of days."

"That's good."

A silence fell over the pair at the table. Bonnie sipped her cup of tea thoughtfully. Her initial question hadn't gotten the conversation she'd hoped for, and she was pondering how else she might approach the subject she wanted to discuss.

"So," she tried again, "when did you say you and Cormack met?"

"The first day of Starfleet Basic Training. I told you that before. Remember?"

"Right. So you never met before that?"

"No." Mae set down her latté and eyed her bunkmate curiously. "It's too early in the morning to be so enigmatic," she said at last. "What are you trying to get at?"

Faced with such forthrightness, Bonnie abandoned her attempt at subtlety. "Did you know she was in a band once?"

"That's what all this is about? You had me freaked out for a minute. Yeah, I know about the band, but don't mention it to anyone else."

"Why not? It was a good band."

"She just doesn't want it getting around the ship."

"Okay." Another silence fell, again broken by Fraser. "I saw them play, you know."

Now Lawless was intrigued. "You did? When?"

"Junior year of high school. They played at the university in Yellowknife. My friends and I went road-tripping to see them."

"All the way from Inuvik? My god, _why_?"

"They were good!"

"Had you heard them before?"

"No, but we'd heard _of_ them. Word gets around the college circuit. My cousin Cari was a freshman at UNWT, and she invited us down for Spring Break. My friends and I were young and bored, so we went."

"So was it worth the trip?"

Fraser smiled. "Oh yeah."

"You're not telling me something," accused Lawless. She pushed her empty cereal bowl aside and leaned on the table. "What happened?"

Bonnie hesitated. She took a quick glance around to make sure no one was nearby, then she lowered her voice conspiratorially, and leaned in over the table. "I didn't know anything but her stage name—"

"Cordelia," put in Mae equally softly, mimicking her bunkmate's clandestine attitude.

"Yeah. Daughters of Lear."

"I know. Go on." Mae was intensely intrigued. Part of her felt she shouldn't be gossiping about her friend when that friend was flat on her back in sickbay. Another part of her insisted there would be no harm in learning a little more about Cormack's band days.

"Well, I only figured out why I recognized her just the other day. She looked totally different back then."

"Yeah, yeah. I've seen pictures."

"You have?" Bonnie was stunned.

"Yeah. Long story. You go first."

Fraser hesitated again, but she knew she wouldn't learn Mae's story until she had told the engineer her own. "She waspretty screwed up back then."

"In what way?" She had a guess from what she already knew, but didn't want to reveal anything unnecessarily.

"She was a raging alcoholic," said Fraser even more quietly. "Obviously she's not now or she wouldn't be here," she added, feeling a sudden unaccountable need to defend the absent ensign. "I mean this was, like, ten years ago."

"I know. She and I've talked about it. We were roommates for a year, you know," Lawless reminded Fraser. "But she said she cleaned up her act when she got together with Regan and Goneril."

"Not immediately, I guess, because when we saw them, she was a mess. She could still play the guitar and sing—basically—but she was completely fucked up. Not that I minded," Bonnie added almost bashfully.

Lawless was amazed to see her bunkmate blush. "What the hell happened at that concert?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

Mae waited.

"Nothing happened_at_ the concert."

Abruptly, the mess hall comm chirped and they heard a female voice say, "Engineering to Ensign Lawless."

"Shit!" exclaimed Mae, causing a number of people in the mess hall to start or snicker, depending on their inclination. She scrambled to her feet and hurried to the comm panel by the door. She punched open the communication. "Lawless here, go ahead."

"Were you planning on joining us this morning, Ensign?" asked Lieutenant Hess.

_Damn!_ thought Mae. _What time is it?_ She'd gotten so wrapped up in Fraser's story, she'd lost track of time. She checked the ship's chronometer only to discover she was five minutes late for an engineering staff meeting. "Sorry, Lieutenant," she said into the comm. "I'll be right there." She closed the connection and would have hurried off immediately, but she spared a moment to return to the table where her bunkmate still sat. "You're going to tell me the rest of this later."

"You bet," the helmsman assured her. "Because I want to hear what you know, too."

*****

"So what you're telling me," said Captain Archer, leaning his elbows on his desk, "is that nearly one-third of my crew is out with the runs?"

"Not just that, sir," Trip hastened to assure him. "Also headaches, nausea" He trailed off. "We weren't going anywhere, and Phlox said he really needed to inoculate everyone—"

Archer held up a hand to stop him. "It's all right, Trip. I'm just grateful I wasn't here to be exposed to the lymphatic virus myself."

"Yes, sir."

Tucker hadn't been expecting Archer and the others back from their mission so soon. He'd figured this whole vaccination problem would be over and done with before he returned, and the captain would only have to hear about it in retrospect. _No such luck_, Trip thought.

On the other hand, Trip was glad the mission—whatever it had been—was over so quickly. He didn't like not knowing where Jon was or what he was doing, particularly when he was off on some secret mission for the Vulcans. Still, it had all ended well, and the Vulcan ship that had been hanging off _Enterprise_'s bow for the last eighteen hours was gone. That fact alone made him breathe easier.

"I hear you received a message for me," Archer said, drawing Tucker from his thoughts. "Something from Admiral Forrest?" He tried to keep his expression impassive, but Trip could read him too well. The engineer's shoulders slumped.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" Trip said.

"Always."

"Don't ever do this to me again, okay?" He knew it was a hopeless request. There would always be the possibility of the captain being called away on some classified mission, leaving Tucker in charge but out of the informational loop.

"I'll do my best," was all Archer could say. Trip nodded in understanding. "So what was the message?"

"Cal beat Stanford seven to three," the younger man informed him unenthusiastically.

Archer grinned at the news. "You can impersonate me anytime if that's the kind of intelligence you end up gathering," he said with a laugh.

Tucker couldn't help but share in his mirth. "Yes, sir!"

"So, have you purged those impulse manifolds like you said you would?"

"Lieutenant Hess is working on it now. In fact, I'll think I'll go check on her progress. I expect she's about done." He was eager to retreat to the comfortable familiarity of his engine room after his harrowing day in "the big chair."

"Great. And, Trip?"

"Yeah, Captain?" The engineer paused at the ready room door.

"Good job."

Trip smiled. "Thank you, sir."

*****  
End Log 2:7  
_Completed 12 Nov 02_

Continued in Log 2:8


	8. Log 2:8

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

**Log 2:8**: (Takes place before and during _The Communicator_ and _Singularity_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Stephanie was happy to have the day off. Phlox had released her from sickbay only minutes ago with strict instructions to take it easy for the rest of the day. For once, the ensign didn't complain; she was ready for a day out of sickbay, but not quite ready for a day back on the job.

She entered her cabin and found it empty. The 'message waiting' light was flashing on the computer. She eyed it dubiously.

"Check the damn messages," she muttered to herself. "If you don't, that little light will drive you nuts." She sank into the chair and began to review the messages. Unsurprisingly, they were all for her. "At least there are only five of them."

The oldest one was a letter from home. Stephanie saved it to read later—when she no longer had the threat of other communiqués hanging over her head. She hated that sort of suspense. 

The next two were armory updates. She skimmed them, looking for anything important enough to warrant deeper reading. There was nothing that couldn't wait.

The fourth was an invitation from Mae for another Girls' Night a week from Saturday. Cormack quickly checked the duty roster for the relevant date before responding. Her reply consisted of two words. "I'm in."

The last message was from her bunkmate. Stephanie was surprised. It was rare when they had to leave each other notes; they usually saw one another on a daily basis. "Not today, apparently," said Cormack, smiling as she read the message. 

Liz was spending the night with Travis. Apparently she'd planned far enough ahead that she wouldn't even need to stop by the cabin to pick up any essentials before heading over to his quarters this evening. According to her message, Liz knew Stephanie had been released from sickbay, and thought maybe her friend would appreciate a quiet night to herself.

Cormack laughed. While it was true she was looking forward to being where no one else could just walk in, where she was in no danger of being disturbed by doctors, she was sure this was simply Liz's excuse for spending the night with her man. "Silly girl. She should know she doesn't need excuses as far as I'm concerned."

The comm chimed, startling her. Her first instinct was to hide from the hail, claim later that she'd been asleep and missed it, but then the caller identified herself.

"Lawless to Cormack."

Stephanie snapped open the line. "Go ahead, lady," she replied brightly.

"You sound better."

"I feel better. Tired still, but oh so much better."

"Good. You think you'll be feeling well enough to meet for dinner tonight?"

"Sure. Any idea what's on the menu?"

"Not a clue," answered Mae. "But it's got to be better than hospital food, right?" she joked. All the food on _Enterprise_ came from the same galley.

"I'll be happy just to be eating at a real table," replied Cormack dryly. "What time?"

"Will 1900 hours work for you?"

"I'm off-duty. Any time works for me."

"Right on. I'll meet you at your place at 1900."

"Cool."

"Lawless out."

There was the familiar sound of the connection closing, and Cormack was once more left in blessed silence. She had the whole day ahead of her in which to do nothing but relax and recuperate. She kicked off her boots and sat back, slouching comfortably in the desk chair. With one hand, she lazily reached out and hit the button that would open the saved letter from home. With luck, there would be ample baseball updates and perhaps even the Cordelia's Sisters and Hoolie-gans albums she'd been promised.

*****

"Captain, are you sure you can't use me for this mission?" Trip asked. The engineer's question bordered on a plea. He'd been feeling antsy for the past week, and he really wanted to go planetside and stretch his legs. 

"It's just a simple information gathering mission, Trip," Archer told him. "We'll only be down there a few hours. Besides, it's a pre-warp society. The fewer people we send, the less chance there'll be for any cultural contamination."

Tucker was disappointed, but there was little more he could do. He was about out of arguments for why the captain should bring him on this particular mission.

Archer eyed him suspiciously. "Is there some special reason you want to visit this particular pre-warp society?" he asked.

"It's justI haven't seen one since we visited the Akaali homeworld, and that one was even pre-industrial. I just thought it might be interesting to see the contrasts."

"I see. So your desire to come stems entirely from anthropological interest." Tucker shrugged noncommittally, and Archer continued. "It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm bringing Malcolm."

Another shrug. "It is on my list," admitted Trip, chagrined.

Archer smiled. He'd guessed as much when he'd announced his plans for the landing party and Trip had immediately requested permission to come with them. "You wouldn't have time for any real R&R, Trip. It's going to be a lot of walking, a lot of looking around and making notes"

"I'm good at taking notes." He knew he wasn't going to win this one, but he felt he had to give it one more try.

"Trip." Archer gave him that look he saved for occasions like this one—the raised eyebrows, tilted head, slightly scolding look for when he was done humoring his old friend. "One security officer and one communications officer. That's all I'm bringing this time."

"Yes, sir." Tucker tried not to appear too dejected. "Have fun."

"Thanks."

Trip hesitated just a moment more, hoping against hope that the captain was just yanking his chain and was split seconds away from relenting. It was a wasted effort. He gave one last nod of defeat and left the ready room.

Once alone, Archer laughed softly and shook his head. "Next time," he promised the departed engineer. "Next time, you can come."

*****

The big topic of conversation at nearly every dinner table was the planet they orbited. The crew had limited information—just what a few had managed to cull from sources on the bridge and in the science departments. A pre-warp culture on the verge of a war, they said, not unlike Earth of about two centuries ago.

"Have you heard anything else?" asked Cormack over her plate of rama chicken and rice.

"Not a thing," said Lawless.

"Maybe Bonnie knows something."

Mae shook her head. "She didn't have bridge duty today. She just has a half-day shift in stellar cartography this evening."

"Damn." Stephanie was disappointed at this news on two levels.

"It's a moot point, anyway," Mae said. "The landing party should be back by now."

What the pair didn't know was that the landing party had returned only to discover they'd left something behind.

*****

Malcolm was frantic, but he tried with every ounce of his being not to show it. He'd been mentally kicking himself ever since he'd discovered the loss of his communicator. The fact Hoshi had narrowed down their search area was of little consolation to the Brit. Now he and the captain were returning to the planet, risking cultural contamination for the second time in a day, all because of his carelessness.

A large part of him wished Captain Archer had taken Trip up on his offer to come with them and help in the search. A half smile crossed the armory officer's face as he remembered his partner's words.

_"I'm a regular bloodhound,"_ Tucker had said as Reed and Archer stepped into the turbolift.

But Archer had said no.

"We're approaching the landing site," the captain said, pulling Reed back to the present. "Any sign of a welcoming committee?"

Reed checked the scanners. "No, sir. We appear to have avoided detection by their military aircraft, and the landing site is deserted."

"Good. I'm taking us down."

*****

"Any word from the landing party?" asked Trip. He was in Main Engineering, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on work. He figured a quick call to the bridge might settle his mind. He was wrong.

"Nothing yet, Commander," Sato informed him. She sounded tense and concerned. Her tone only served to heighten Tucker's own anxiety.

"Shouldn't they have checked in about half an hour ago?" he asked, although he already knew to the minute how overdue their hail was.

"Yes, sir."

Trip made up his mind. "I'll be there in a minute," he informed her.

"Aye, sir."

On the bridge, Hoshi closed the comm and turned to see an inquisitive T'Pol looking her way. "Commander Tucker's on his way up."

"I heard. I am simply puzzled as to what he thinks his presence here will accomplish," T'Pol said. "It won't make the landing party report any sooner."

"No, Sub-commander," agreed Sato. She didn't bother to try to explain to the Vulcan that, while it might not do any material good, it might make Tucker feel better.

*****

Stephanie awoke from her dream gasping for breath and sweating. She sat up and reached out a shaking hand through the darkness and turned on her bedside light. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Slowly, her breathing slowed.

She was glad Liz wasn't in tonight. Stephanie would have hated to wake her with yet another disturbing dream; the exobiologist had had enough of her own lately, although they seemed to have passed. Cormack wasn't so lucky.

She tried to remember what she'd been dreaming. Ropes and scalpels, jefferies tubes and emergency lighting were the only things she could be sure of. Everything else stubbornly eluded her conscious mind.

"This is really getting old," Stephanie muttered angrily to the empty cabin as she threw back the blankets. She rose, stretching muscles tensed from dreaming. A quick glance at the chronometer told her it was still the middle of the night. She shook her head in annoyance. "First night back in my own bed, and I can't even enjoy it."

She quickly used the lav, then got herself a glass of water, drinking it down without stopping for a breath. She was wired; she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for a while. Instead, she fished her big, hardbound copy of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ from its cubbyhole. She climbed back into her bunk, adjusted the covers, settled the heavy book on her knees, and turned to her favorite comedy. With luck, she'd be out by the time Dogberry made his first entrance, and there was no one to be bothered if she fell asleep with the light on.

*****

Things on the planet had gone from bad to worse. Not only had they been unable to retrieve the missing communicator, they had also lost a second communicator, two scanners, and worst of all, a phase pistol. 

_That's what happens when you're arrested and imprisoned as enemy spies,_ thought Malcolm sardonically.

Reed and Archer both stood, silent as stones, in the prison cell. Neither man had spoken in a long time, not since Malcolm had said in a moment of desperate optimism, "I'm expecting a rescue party to come barging through that doorany moment." That was well over an hour ago. By the tactical officer's estimate, they had less than thirty minutes left before they would be hanged.

Malcolm supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when the alien general had announced their impending execution, but it had hit him like a physical blow all the same. He'd been standing in the darkest corner of the cell, the same corner where he stood now. His feet ached from all the walking done earlier and all the standing about more recently, but he was disinclined to move. His mind was reeling with everything he'd left undone aboard _Enterprise_. There was a status report due and duty rosters that needed reviewing. He'd planned to do some work on the phase pistols. (Their beams had a limited distance before they lost cohesion; he'd hoped to improve their range.) There were all sorts of things his replacement would need to know, and he'd never get the chance to pass on his knowledge.

Most of all, he regretted that he'd never get the chance to say a proper good-bye to Trip. He and Archer had rushed off so quickly in search of his missing equipment that Malcolm hadn't said so much as, "See you later." Now he _wouldn't_ see him later. He wouldn't ever see him again.

Malcolm took a slow, deep breath, forcing down the lump that was growing in his throat. He was relieved when Archer spoke.

"I forgot to ask Hoshi to look after Porthos," he said softly.

Reed wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly. "Sir?"

Archer was leaning against the bars of the cell. He'd been standing there for at least half an hour, Malcolm judged. The captain turned his head enough to look in the tactical officer's direction. "I forgot to ask Hoshi to look after Porthos. We left so quickly, and Inever expected to be gone so long. I hope she thinks to feed him. It's the middle of the night on _Enterprise_, and I didn't get the chance to feed him while we were back. He's probably pretty hungry by now."

Malcolm didn't know what to say, doubted there was anything _to_ say. "Yes, sir."

There was another silence as Archer regarded the younger man. "How are you doing?" he asked finally.

"I'm fine, sir," replied Reed shortly, his voice rough.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm."

The words surprised Reed. Surely the captain didn't blame himself for their predicament? It was Malcolm who had lost his communicator; it was Malcolm's stories of genetic enhancements that had put them in their current predicament. Sure, the lies had convinced their captors they weren't aliens, but it was those same lies that had decided them to execute the captives. As far as Reed was concerned, there was no one to blame but himself.

"Captain, I—" He stopped short. What could he say? "It's not your fault, sir," he said. The words sounded lame even to his own ears, and he wondered if the Captain would believe them.

"I'm responsible for my crew, Malcolm. I'm sorry I let you down this time," Archer said. He moved from the cell door to sit on one of the uncomfortable sleeping pallets. "I wish I could apologize to Trip, too, before But it's just you and me now. So, I'm sorry," he repeated firmly.

Malcolm was at a loss. He wanted to protest. He wanted to say something to make the Captain understand he didn't hold him responsible. But he couldn't find the words and he suddenly realized that wasn't what Archer needed to hear at that moment anyway. Archer needed absolution, and Malcolm was the only one who could give it to him.

Reed finally pushed away from the wall, muscles complaining at the movement after such long stillness. He sat on the corner of the nearest pallet and looked at his captain. "Apology accepted, sir," he said quietly.

Archer's slumped shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Unable to speak, he simply nodded his thanks.

*****

The past ninety minutes had flown by in a haze for Commander Tucker. He and Mayweather had been working on their rescue plan like men possessed. Unfortunately, the Suliban cell-ship stubbornly refused to cooperate. Every time Trip thought he had the cloaking generator figured out, something would go wrong. He was fast losing his patience.

"All right," he said to Mayweather. "Take all the weapons and any defensive systems not related to the cloak offline. We'll reroute the power to the cloaking generator."

"_All_ of them?" Travis asked. They were planning to fly the small pod into hostile territory. Even with a working cloak, he wasn't keen on the idea of going in defenseless.

"_All_ of them," repeated Trip.

The younger man nodded and set to work.

They worked silently, side by side. Every moment that passed caused Trip more worry and frustration. He was beginning to hate this cell-ship. They'd had it on board for over a year, and in all that time the one system he hadn't been able to figure out satisfactorily was now the one system they needed more than any of the others.

"Damn it," he muttered angrily under his breath.

"Commander?" asked Mayweather, concerned.

"Nothing, Travis. It's justtime's getting short, and if this doesn't work, I don't know what will. I'm out of ideas."

"It'll work, sir," Travis said confidently.

Trip looked at him. It wasn't often he found himself in the position of pessimist, but the helmsman's optimism at that moment far outstripped his own. He had a sudden memory of being stuck in Shuttlepod One with Malcolm. 

They'd been talking about everyone left behind, and Trip had expressed his plans to tell Hoshi's family how much of an asset she'd been to the mission. Malcolm, in the midst of recording heartfelt yet oddly impersonal letters to a slew of exes back in San Francisco, had suggested Trip would want to record letters of his own later.

Tucker's claim that he'd tell them in person had caused Reed's usual reserve to weaken a bit. It was the first time Trip could remember Malcolm actually talking back to a superior officer, and for all that it was a mild rebuke.

_"You know, your treacly optimism is beginning to get just a little bit tiresome,"_ Malcolm had informed him.

Right now, Trip would have given anything for even a fraction of that optimism. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right, Travis," he said resolutely. "It'll work." He stepped down out of the ship and walked a few paces away before turning back around to look at it. "Turn it on."

There was a moment of breathless anticipation while the ensign engaged the cell-ship's cloaking device.

"Well?" Mayweather asked from his seat in the pod. "Is it working?"

Trip's eyes narrowed as he stared intently at the ship, or rather, at Travis sitting in the ship's cockpit, suspended in mid-air. It was a disturbing but highly gratifying sight. Tucker grinned. "Yep. It's working."

His grin was matched by Mayweather's. "Then let's get going!"

Trip jogged the few steps to the comm panel by the door and hailed T'Pol. He didn't hesitate once she'd acknowledged the call. "We're ready to go, Sub-commander."

"I'll be there momentarily. T'Pol out."

*****

At that moment, Malcolm couldn't have cared less about cultural contamination. All he wanted was to be out of there and safe in Trip's arms back on _Enterprise_. 

The guard slid the noose roughly over Reed's head. Malcolm couldn't help flinching at the feel of it, at the tension as it was tightened around his neck. He briefly contemplated closing his eyes, but decided against it. Whatever was coming, he wanted to see it.

There was a rushing noise abruptly followed a strong, hot wind. Malcolm blinked rapidly as the dirt of the courtyard was kicked up and blown into his eyes. He looked around and found his own confusion mirrored in the face of his captain. They turned at the sound, not entirely unfamiliar but still unplaceable in either man's mind. Then the oddest apparition appeared.

It was an arm, inexplicably floating in mid-air and aiming a phase pistol. With two shots fired and two guards down, the arm was followed by the figure of Trip. Close behind him was T'Pol. They continued firing at the guards who had taken cover and begun to return fire. T'Pol kept Tucker covered as he raced up the steps to the gallows.

Archer felt the cold metal of the knife as it cut through the bonds around his wrists. Once loose, he reached to pull the noose from his neck as Tucker cut Malcolm free.

The next two minutes were a blur for Reed. Someone—was it T'Pol or Trip?—had pressed a phase pistol into his hand. After a split-second check to make certain the weapon was set to stun, he'd started firing. Despite all the chaos, a thought struck him, and he looked at Archer who was crouched next to him behind the gallows platform.

"Sir, the phase pistol, our equipment," he said over the sound of gunfire.

Archer paused only a moment. "Don't leave without me." Malcolm nodded and laid down covering fire as the captain worked his way back into the building.

One by one, Reed, Tucker, and T'Pol raced across the open compound to the cloaked and waiting cell-ship. While its exterior was invisible, Malcolm could see the bottom of the cockpit and someone's feet inside it. Setting his sights on those feet hovering about a meter above the ground, he put his head down and ran. He could hear the guards' gunfire increase, but so did the covering phase pistol fire from his rescuers. In seconds, he reached the pod and climbed inside.

"Good to see you, Travis," he said a bit breathlessly as he identified the owner of the feet.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," replied the helmsman.

Reed balanced himself as best he could and, catching T'Pol's eye from across the compound, began to lay down more covering fire. Once she was with them, they repeated the process for Trip. The engineer climbed in, making the small cockpit that much more crowded. Malcolm didn't mind in the least—although he'd have preferred being squished by the bulk of his lover rather than T'Pol's slim form.

Tucker peered out of the cell-ship, eyes trained on the door through which the captain had disappeared. "Come on," he muttered nervously. He fired almost offhandedly and took out another guard. "Come on There he is!"

Archer was in the doorway, pockets bulging and a set of files pressed to his chest. He shot two more guards before racing toward the pod. He handed the files off to Tucker, who then grabbed his hand and hauled him bodily into the ship. 

"Let's go!" gasped Archer, as the hatch sealed behind him.

*****

Reed hadn't yet cleaned up since his return to the ship. Phlox had passed him and the captain through the bioscans as quickly and easily as he had earlier that day. The doctor had also offered to treat Reed's few small injuries, but Malcolm was impatient to see Trip. The rescue party had dropped off Reed and Archer back at the shuttlepod—still blessedly undiscovered—and the trio had returned in the cell-ship while the pair flew the pod back to _Enterprise_.

Once aboard, he'd gone immediately to Trip's cabin, but the lovers' reunion wasn't quite what Malcolm had been hoping for. Instead of a heartfelt embrace, the blond man had held out a hand to keep him at a distance. At Reed's puzzled questioning, Tucker explained. 

Malcolm couldn't hide his astonishment. "You cloaked your arm!?" he exclaimed, incredulous.

"Not on purpose! I took a jolt from the cell-ship's cloaking generator andwellyou can see the results for yourself. Or not see, I suppose." Slowly, almost as if he were embarrassed, Trip pulled off the glove Phlox had given him to revealnothing.

Reed stared in disbelief. "But it's there. I saw you fire a phase pistol—with outstanding accuracy, I might add," he said with an approving smile.

Trip returned it with a small half-smile of his own. "Thanks." Then his smile faded. "But I don't know what I'm gonna do about this." He wiggled invisible fingers, then remembered Malcolm couldn't see them. His shoulders slumped and he sat heavily, letting his hand fall to his lap. He yanked off his boots and tossed them negligently in the direction of the closet, then pulled his feet up onto his bunk and leaned against the bulkhead. Idly, he played with the empty glove.

"How long has it been like that?" Malcolm asked him, taking a seat on the edge of the bunk.

"Hours," answered Trip morosely.

"Has it gotten any better?"

"Haven't checked in a while." Here he shot Malcolm an ironic look. "Been kind of busy."

Reed chuckled. "Yes, you have. And I'm very glad. Now come on, roll up your sleeve. How far did you say the cloaking went?" When it was clear Trip wasn't moving, he reached over grasped the engineer's wrist just at the cuff of his sleeve. He undid the cuff and pushed the sleeve back.

"It was up past my elbow," Trip told him unenthusiastically.

"Hmm. Well I can't get your sleeve that far," announced Malcolm, "so undo your uniform and take your shirt off."

"Malcolm—"

"Don't argue. Just do it." At Trip's stubborn look, he tried another tactic. "Humor me, please?" he asked sweetly. "I've had a hell of a day."

Tucker let out a brief, mirthless chuckle, but did as he was told. As it turned out, he was glad he'd given in to Malcolm's request; while his forearm and hand were still cloaked, his elbow was once again visible. He bent the joint a number of times, marveling at its return. He smiled.

"That's better," Malcolm said, noticing the smile. 

Trip looked at him and nodded. "It sure is," he agreed, meaning his arm. His eyes finally focused properly on his partner. Once he'd known Malcolm was safely back aboard, Tucker's thoughts had returned to his own invisible predicament. Now that it appeared to be correcting itself, he remembered Malcolm was hurt.

He reached out his left hand—the one he could see—and turned Malcolm's head a little to one side. He hissed at the clear sight of the split and swollen lip. "Ouch," he said in sympathy.

"It's not so bad."

"Sure it's not," said Trip, knowing it was untrue. "What'd they hit you with?"

"Butt of one of those automatic guns of theirs." He didn't add that they'd used it first to slam him in the gut. The memory caused him to unconsciously place a hand over the area of his midriff where they'd hit him.

Trip saw the move and misinterpreted it. "You hungry?" he asked, and released his gentle hold on Malcolm's chin.

"No."

Then realization dawned on the engineer. He pulled his shirt back on and stood abruptly, zipping up his uniform. He crossed the room in three quick strides.

"What are you doing?" asked Reed, startled.

"Putting my boots on," Tucker informed him. He sat at the desk and pulled them on.

"Why?"

"Because we're going to sickbay."

Malcolm watched him, recognized the firm set of his jaw and the determined look in his eye. "This isn't an argument I'm going to win, is it." It wasn't a question. As such, Trip didn't bother to answer it.

He stood. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

*****

"Good morning, Lieutenant," said Cormack, then abruptly stifled a yawn.

"Up late last night?" her C.O. asked pleasantly.

"Yeah, but not in a good way."

Reed chuckled. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks," replied Cormack, fully aware of the teasing she was getting. There were those who wouldn't have caught it, but to the ensign it was more than clear. ""We can't all be as lucky as you," she added dryly. 

Malcolm chuckled again. "I suppose not," he agreed coyly.

Cormack shook her head. "I didn't expect to see you here this morning," she continued, hoping to draw the conversation away from her solitary and sleepless night. She'd heard about the eleventh-hour rescue of the Captain and Reed. Had she been in their situation last night, she'd have been happily hiding in her bed at this moment, trying to forget the whole thing.

"It's better than sitting around," said Reed. "Besides, I have a report to write to Starfleet, and there are some new security protocols to work on. However, I wanted to check in here first to see how everything was going."

"Fine, fine," Cormack assured him, yawning again. "Sorry."

"You did get your coffee this morning, didn't you?" he asked, lightly teasing.

"Yes, sir. I guess I should have gotten more."

"Why _were_ you up so late last night, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Really?" He was doubtful. "You certainly look as though you could sleep now."

"Yeah. No. It wasn't insomnia. Ikept having bizarre dreams last night." She shrugged. "Probably should go for less spice on the rama chicken next time," she joked.

"Apparently. Are you going to make it through the day?" Reed gave her a concerned look; she really did appear to be all but asleep on her feet.

"Actually" She hesitated. It was such an unprofessional request she hated to ask it.

"Yes?" prompted the lieutenant.

"Would you mind if I just ran to the mess hall and grabbed another latté?" Stephanie blurted out. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Go. Get your fix. But be back here A.S.A.P. I need to get to work on that report."

"Aye, sir. You'll never miss me." She climbed the steps to the upper level where she paused. "Thanks!" Then she disappeared out the door.

Reed smiled to himself at her departure, shaking his head in amusement. Then, just out of curiosity, he checked the time. How long would it take the ensign to get to the mess hall, get her drink, and return to the armory? No time would be definitive of course; too much depended on external elements like how long the turbolift took to arrive and the possible line at the drinks dispenser.

Apparently, Cormack encountered neither of these delays. She was back, latté in hand, in under four minutes.

"Well done," said Reed as she descended the open metal staircase. "I can't say for certain, but I'd guess that was a record," he joked.

Stephanie took a deep breath and let it out. "Thank you, sir. I'm very proud," she quipped in return. "But seriously, Lieutenant, thanks. I'll be good now."

"Why do I doubt that claim?"

Cormack gave him a mock-offended look. "I'm always very good!"

Reed considered responding, then stopped himself. "I'm not going near that," he declared.

The ensign laughed. "Probably a good choice."

"All right." The Tactical Officer took one more look around the quiet armory. "If you have everything under control here" He was rewarded with an ironic look from Cormack. He smiled. "Then I'll leave the armory in your capable hands. Just try not to spill coffee on anything."

"Of course not, sir! It's far too valuable."

It took him a split second to realize she meant the coffee and not the equipment. He shook his head. "I'll see you later, Ensign."

"Yes, sir." She raised her drink as if toasting him. "Have fun with that report."

"Oh yes. I'm looking forward to telling them all about my visit to the planet who's culture we just damaged beyond hope of repair."

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"I don't suppose we'll ever find out. Excuse me, Ensign."

"Yes, sir."

Reed headed up the stairs and out of the armory.

*****

"You're making very good progress, Commander," Phlox said heartily.

"I'm glad you think so," Trip said.

His arm was definitely beginning to make its reappearance, but not in any way he would have expected. Instead of all fading back in at once, or a gradual reemergence that spread from his elbow down toward his fingers, the limb was returning in bits and pieces. Patches here and there were randomly revealing themselves. Every time he checked, there were more. Right now, a large section of the inside of his forearm was visible, which wouldn't have been so bad if he couldn't see the actual _inside_ of his arm from the opposite side. He shuddered, rolling his sleeve back down over the offending appendage.

His hand was also beginning to reappear, but in a slightly less disturbing way. His thumb and ring finger were fully visible, but the rest of the hand remained stubbornly absent from view. "I'm getting real sick of this glove," he said, pulling the item on.

"Patience, patience. There is no reason to believe your hand and arm won't fully reappear if you just give them time."

"You sure there's nothing you can do?"

Phlox gave him a chiding look. "We've had this conversation more than once," he reminded his patient.

"I know, I know," said Trip, defeated. He hopped off the biobed and headed to the door. "Thanks, Doc."

"I'll see you this afternoon," replied the Denobulan.

"Yep. 17:00. I'll be here..." He waved his gloved hand in the air. "mostly."

*****

"Are you coming home tonight, or are you spending another night with your man?" Cormack asked her bunkmate over dinner.

Liz smiled coyly. "I'll be out tonight," she replied.

"Good for you! Live large."

"I will."

Stephanie paused, her glass of water halfway to her mouth. She set it back down. "That just brought me images I so did not need to have in my head."

"What are you doing tonight?" her bunkmate asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"Sadly, I have nowhere else to be, so I'll be staying in. Actually, Ryn sent me the new Cordelia's Sisters and I'm planning on just kicking back and enjoying it."

"That's great! Did your sister happen to send the new Hoolie-gans album, too?" Liz asked hopefully. She liked the Wiccan punk band, but the violent Celtic fiddles of the Hoolie-gans had won her over the first time she'd heard them.

"Nope. The release got delayed. Now it's not due until December."

"Bummer."

"It is," agreed Cormack. She took a bite of her lasagna, then made an odd face.

"What is it?" asked Cutler.

Instead of answering, the blonde scooped up another forkful of the steamy pasta dish and held it out to Liz. "Does this taste right to you?"

Dubious, Liz took the bite and chewed it thoughtfully. She swallowed and said, "It tastes kind of bland to me."

"That's what I thought. That's not like Chef."

"Maybe he's just having an off night," suggested Cutler.

"Maybe. How's the soup?" Cormack gestured to her bunkmate's dinner selection.

"Fine."

"Huh. Oh well. As my mother always said when she produced an uninspiring meal, 'It will sustain life.'"

"Did that happen often?"

"Not very."

"That's good."

*****

Trip rang the chime to Malcolm's quarters.

"Come in," called the lieutenant. The door opened to reveal the engineer, and Reed looked at him in mild surprise. He rose and approached him. "Since when do you knock? You know you're always welcome here," he said, wrapping his arms around the blond and kissing him hello.

"Wasn't sure you were home," said Trip once he'd been released from the embrace. He took a step back and held up his hand. "Look."

Malcolm smiled. "Good as new."

"Almost. Take a closer look."

Reed did as requested, peering intently at the hand. "That's certainly an unusual effect," he said at last.

"Yeah," agreed Tucker. He held his hand up to his face and, closing one eye, squinted through the last remaining patch of cloaking—a small "hole" just below his index finger. "Sure is a weird perspective. Wonder what it'd look like if I took a picture through it?"

"I don't have a camera."

"I could get mine. It's in my quarters." He continued to stare through the window in his hand, sighting on various items around the cabin. When his gaze landed on Malcolm, he smiled. "You're good to look at through any perspective," he said, lowering his hand.

"Thank you." Malcolm returned the smile. He took Trip's hand and laced his fingers through the engineer's. "Were you going to go get your camera?" he asked. He began kissing his partner's fingers one by one.

"Uhit can wait."

"Good." He let go and moved quickly to the desk where he'd been working when Trip arrived. "I have some new security protocols I want your opinion on before I show them to Sub-commander T'Pol tomorrow morning."

Tucker stood momentarily stunned. The abrupt change of mood had caught him completely unprepared. "You're so mean!" he exclaimed, but his words held no malice. He approached Malcolm at the desk.

"I'll make it up to you. Just take a look at this and tell me what you think."

"Then can we get back to what we were doing just a second ago?"

"Absolutely," promised Malcolm.

"All right." Tucker sat at the desk and began to read.

*****

It was late when Cormack finally bothered to check the time. "Shit!" she exclaimed to the empty cabin. "I should go to bed." She reached out to shut off the music, but paused. She'd spent the entire evening listening to the new album her sister had sent. One track in particular intrigued her. It was a new arrangement of a cover song they'd done when she'd played with Daughters of Lear. That track was rerunning now. She figured she'd turn the recording off when the song ended. 

She bounced a little to the fast beat of the piece until the guitar riff during the bridge caught her attention. She cocked her head, listening intently. When the final verse started up, she quickly paused the recording, backed it up, and played the section again.

"That's so cool," she muttered, playing it back a third time. "Huh."

She happened to catch a glimpse of her bedside chronometer again at that moment. "Turn the music off, Stephanie," she told herself firmly, then followed her own command. She quickly changed into her pink pajamas and headed to the lav to brush her teeth, humming the guitar riff the whole way.

*****

Reed looked up from the armory's main console. "You're late, Ensign."

"Yes, sir," said Cormack contritely. "Sorry, sir."

She'd slept through her alarm. It had taken a hail from Mae, wondering why she hadn't met her for breakfast as planned, to wake her. By then there were less than five minutes until her shift began. Stephanie had pulled on a clean uniform, grabbed a ponytail holder, and run out the door. The lift ride to F-deck was just enough for her to corral her wild hair into a quick braid. She'd wrapped the band around the bottom as she stepped into the armory.

"Get a toolkit and a communicator," Reed ordered flatly.

"Yes, sir." The ensign gathered the equipment from a locker, wondering as she did so what joyless task she was about to be stuck with. _It had to be a day when there were people here, didn't it?_ she thought, glancing surreptitiously around and counting half a dozen crewmen. Every one of them avoided looking back at her. _Of course._

Cormack was thoroughly annoyed with herself. It was her own damn fault she was late. She'd lost all track of time listening to the new Cordelia's Sisters album last night. She still had the guitar riff from one particular song in her head, in fact. It didn't help matters that she'd been up much of the night before that with strange dreams.

_And I've had no coffee. It'll probably be a good thing if the lieutenant sends me into a jefferies tube where I can't spread my lovely mood,_ she thought morosely.

"Sir," she said, returning with the toolbox in one hand and the communicator in the other.

"Power relay R-97 is in need of replacing. I was going to contact Engineering and have them send someone to deal with it, but you can handle it." He handed her a new power relay. Cormack quickly tucked her communicator into a pocket before taking the piece of equipment from him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." 

Cormack headed off to the starboard side of the armory. She had to set down her burdens in order to remove the access panel there. Hands once more full, she stepped in and worked her way to power relay R-97. When she finally reached it, she set the toolbox and new relay to one side and opened the panel to reveal the malfunctioning equipment. A quick scan showed that R-97 was completely burned out. _Lovely. No wonder Malcolm's so annoyed. Without this puppy running, we're stuck without targeting scanners for the phase-cannons—unless we want to reroute half the systems._

She pulled out her communicator and flipped it open. "Cormack to Armory."

She was surprised to hear Crewman Martinez respond. "Go ahead."

"I'm here, Juliana. Can you confirm there's no power trying to run through this busted relay?"

"Just a moment." There was a pause before Martinez said, "Confirmed. All clear."

"Thanks." Cormack set the communicator aside, but left the comm line open. She fished a sonic driver from the toolkit and began to disengage the dead relay. She didn't realize she was humming until Martinez commented on it.

"Are you humming?" the crewman's hushed voice came through the line.

"Huh?" Stephanie replied, startled. "I guess so. Sorry. Where'd the lieutenant go, anyway?" she asked.

"Staff meeting on the bridge."

"Oh." Cormack continued to work in silence—or so she thought.

"You're humming again, Ensign," Martinez informed her, an amused tone in her voice now.

"Damn. I am, aren't I? Sorry. I'll just close the comm line until I need you again. How's that sound?"

"That's probably a good idea."

"Come on," joked Stephanie, "I don't suck that much do I?"

"Not at all. It's simply that it doesn't sound like my kind of music."

"Yeah," Cormack was forced to agree. "Wiccan punk isn't everyone's cuppa java. I'll let you know when I'm done in here. Cormack out."

*****

"Fraser to Lawless."

Mae's head jerked up. She'd been so engrossed in the phase coil she was aligning that the hail caught her completely by surprise. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her communicator. "Lawless here. What is it?"

"Lunchtime. Don't you remember?" her bunkmate asked. "We're meeting for lunch today so I can ask you about that thing?" The way she said "thing" implied more specifics than Fraser wanted to reveal over an unsecured comm.

"Right on. Sorry. I lost track of time. I'll be right there in five minutes."

"Good. Fraser out."

Lawless looked longingly at the phase coil. She wanted to get its alignment just right. She hesitated for a brief second, then shook her head. "After lunch," she said to herself. "It can wait half an hour."

*****

Cormack didn't bother to return to finish her duty shift that afternoon. The strains of the song that were stuck in her head had her completely mesmerized. She couldn't think about anything else.

Alone in her quarters, she listened to the song yet again. She'd set the computer to continually loop the section that so fascinated her. Unconsciously, she began to finger the strings of an imaginary guitar, trying to work out the riff.

"This isn't working," she said to the room after several unsuccessful minutes. She abandoned her air-guitar and searched the cabin, looking for something, anything that could simulate the neck of a guitar.

"Damn it! Nothing!" An idea struck her. "The Quartermaster!"

Leaving the music playing, she hurried out and went in search of the ship's quartermaster.

*****

"What did Hoshi call this again?" Bonnie asked, taking another bite of the delicately flavored soup.

"_Oden_," answered Mae. "It's one of those dishes that's completely different depending on who makes it, but it's always called the same thing—like sukiyaki."

"It's good."

"Yeah, but I still like my dad's better."

"Don't say that to Hoshi. She seems kind of defensive. Did you see her talking to Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker?"

"No. I didn't notice. Listen," said Lawless suddenly, setting her spoon down. "I need to go. There's a project I'm working on, and I really need to get back to it."

"But I never got to ask you aboutwhat I wanted to ask you about," protested Fraser, glancing surreptitiously around the mess hall.

Mae hesitated only briefly. "I really need to go. How about we meet for dinner? You can ask me then." She rose.

"But—" Bonnie wanted to argue, but it was too late; Lawless was already half way to the door.

"Dinner," the engineer called back over her shoulder.

Fraser could only nod, although she was sure her bunkmate didn't even notice her response. She sat alone, finishing her lunch and thinking. _I suppose I could do my own research in the meantime. There must be something in the personnel files at least. Not really what I'm looking for, but it's a place to start. I just need to get past the clearance codes_

*****

She'd gotten no satisfaction from the quartermaster. For some reason he was completely absorbed in making a pair of boots. He informed her that he'd already resequenced the soles twice, and he simply didn't have time to deal with her request right then. If she could come back in a day or two, he might be done with his current project, but he couldn't make any guarantees. Stephanie had thanked him ungraciously and left.

"What the hell's so important about a pair of boots?" she wondered aloud as she strode along the corridor. "Fine. If he won't help, I'll do it myself. I don't need a real guitar, after all. I just need the neck and the strings and the front." Her mind made up, she headed to Main Engineering.

Once there, she found the person she was looking for was currently somewhere in a jefferies tube in the starboard nacelle. "Damn." She looked at Dillard, who had given her this unhelpful information. She supposed she could ask him. It wasn't as if the items she wanted to borrow weren't open to anyone who knew how to use them. She would simply have felt better asking a close friend. "I don't suppose you could let me borrow a laser micrometer and a plasma torch, could you? I only need them for, like, an hour or two?"

Dillard shrugged. He had his own stuff to deal with and couldn't be bothered to care. "They're in the locker over there," he informed her, pointing to the storage unit in question.

"Thanks." Cormack quickly collected the tools. The laser micrometer was just what she needed to find the right size pieces of disilicon polymer to simulate the neck and front of a guitar. With luck, she could also find a suitable substance to be used as mock-up strings. If not, she would just have to resequence something. She had to figure out the fingerings of that riff.

Humming, she headed off to the ship's stores.

*****

Liz Cutler was all prepared. Soft music played; two glasses of red wine waited patiently on the nightstand; the cabin lights were dimmed romantically. She wished she had some candles. Briefly, the exobiologist considered running to her cabin and borrowing a couple of Stephanie's. She was sure her bunkmate wouldn't mind. Even one would add tremendously to the mood. It was irrelevant that open flames were prohibited unless one could get permission from Captain Archer.

She checked the time and did a quick mental calculation. Liz sighed, disappointed. There wasn't time. Travis should be getting off duty at that very moment. Assuming he left the bridge right now, there was no way she could put her uniform back on, get to her cabin and return to his with the candles, and then change back into her red silk nightgown before he arrived.

"Oh well," she said to the empty cabin. "This will just have to do. I have the important elements, anyway. Well," she amended, "_most_ of the important elements." She looked at the chronometer. "Come on, Travis. I'm waiting."

*****

Stephanie didn't stop when the blisters formed on her fingers. She paused momentarily, cursing herself for being so out of practice that her calluses were years gone, then shook out her fingers and continued to play through the pain.

She kept playing when the blisters broke. It wasn't until her fingertips began to bleed, turning the strings and the board below them sticky, that she stopped. She cleaned up the makeshift guitar neck and used the first-aid kit in the lav to treat her wounds. Then, liquid bandages over the pads of the damaged fingers, she sat back down to play.

All the while, the same recording played in the background.

*****

Liz awoke to find herself still alone. She checked the time, surprised to find she'd actually slept through the night. Of course that meant she hadn't gotten what she wanted and now she was supposed to go on duty. "Not good, Liz. Not good." 

She'd been unable to concentrate on her work all of yesterday. Her usual delight in how her experiments were progressing was strangely lacking. She couldn't focus. Admittedly she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, but it had been for all the right reasons. Liz smiled, remembering.

_But what happened last night?_ she wondered in frustration._ Where's Travis?_

Clearly he'd never returned last night. Liz had fallen asleep waiting for him. He'd been scheduled to upgrade the navigation sensors yesterday, and she supposed it was possible the job was taking longer than expected.

_But not all night! He has other obligations, thank you very much!_

Liz sat up and threw back the covers of Travis's bunk. Rising, she pulled on the silky red robe that matched the nightie she wore, and sat at the computer. 

_No messages. That's not like him at all._

She quickly ran a search to find her missing lover.

"Sickbay? What's he doing in sickbay?" she murmured aloud, puzzled. Her expression grew concerned. "I hope he's all right! I have plans for that man!"

She rose from the desk and tied the belt on her robe as she headed for the door. It felt as though her whole body was humming with electricity. She had to get to Travis.

*****

Phlox glanced up as the door to sickbay opened. "Ah! Hello, Ensign," he said pleasantly. "Come to assist?"

"Assist?" asked Liz. "Assist in what?"

"Ensign Mayweather's surgery, of course." The Denobulan gestured to the biobed where Travis lay sedated.

"Do I look like I came to assist in your surgery?" asked Liz a little sharply. She was beyond impatient. She wanted Travis, and she wanted him now.

Phlox took in her minimal attire and paused. "No, you don't," he answered. "But there's an extra surgical gown in the cupboard if you'd care to put it on."

"No, thank you. I have other plans for Ensign Mayweather, if you don't mind." She approached the biobed determinedly and looked down at Travis's slack face. "Wake up!" she ordered. He didn't respond. She grasped his strong shoulders and shook him none too gently. "Wake up!" she repeated more forcefully.

"Now, now, Ensign," interrupted Phlox, putting a hand on her arm. "Shaking him is hardly going to help his condition."

That made Liz pause. "Condition? What condition? Is he all right?"

"I don't know yet. That's what the surgery is meant to find out."

"But can't it wait? I won't take long, I promise. Just wake him up, and you can have him back as soon as I'm done with him."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question."

"But I_need_ him _right now_. Awake would be preferable, but I can manage if he's not. I've been waiting for ages! We haven't had sex in" She quickly checked the time. "over _thirty hours_."

"Isn't this something you can handle on your own? Humans have a long and rich history of masturbation techniques," said Phlox. "I could provide you with some reference material if you like."

"It's not the same," Liz assured him firmly. "Now please, can I have him for just half an hour? I'll give him right back. I swear."

"No, I'm afraid not." The doctor shook his head stubbornly.

"Okay. Fifteen minutes."

"No!"

"Unacceptable!" Liz grabbed Travis once again and shook him hard, shouting in his face, "_Travis, wake up!_"

"That's enough of that!" exclaimed Phlox. He picked up a hypospray—the same one he'd used to sedate Mayweather, in fact—and pressed it to Cutler's neck. Immediately, she went limp and collapsed over Travis's recumbent form. "That's better," the Denobulan said. He picked her up and carried her to another biobed where he strapped her down securely on the off chance she woke up while he was in surgery. "Sleep tight, Ensign," he said with a smile, then pulled the curtain around the medical bay.

"Now, where was I?" he muttered to himself. "Ah yes!" He went to the cupboard and donned a surgical gown.

*****

T'Pol's departure had left Reed alone in the armory once again. He'd really expected better things from the Vulcan Science Officer. Not only had she not had the clearance code he'd sent to her station, but she admitted she hadn't even been to the bridge in several hours.

_Honestly, who can you rely on when discipline is so lax you can't even trust a Vulcan to stay at her post?_ he thought, disgusted. _That's another thing I'll have to discuss with the captain—assuming he is still captain after Starfleet hears about what's been going on here._

He was distracted suddenly by a red flashing light on his console. "Security breach!" he exclaimed. "There's a traitor on board! I knew something like this would happen. It's a damned good thing my new security protocols are active. Perhaps now Captain Archer will take my recommendations more seriously," he continued to mutter, his fingers dancing over the console as he tracked down the source of the breach. Someone was trying to access the classified section of the ship's personnel files, but who?

*****

"Almost got it," said Fraser.

At that moment, the cabin door whipped open.

"What the—?" she exclaimed.

She got no further as Lieutenant Reed charged in, phase pistol drawn. "Freeze, Ensign!"

"Lieutenant? What's going on?"

"You're under arrest!" Reed declared.

Fraser tried to protest that she hadn't been doing anything wrong; she was just trying to find out some information. She never got the chance. She stood, but didn't make it one step before the Tactical Officer fired. Fraser crumpled to the ground, stunned.

Malcolm quickly secured her hands in front of her and then stepped to the computer to see how far she had gotten in her subversive activities. He tensed when he discovered she'd been only one level away from breaking into the classified personnel files. He quickly locked down her terminal so no one else could access her decryption codes. He would examine them later himself.

"So much for that, Ensign Fraser," he said to her unconscious form. "If that's your real name."

He knelt, rolled her onto her back, took hold of her cuffed hands, and pulled her up. He grasped her waist and lifted her over one shoulder in a fireman's carry. "It's off to the brig with you," he declared. "Then it's time for a surprise drill for the rest of the crew."

*****

Archer was having serious trouble focusing. He tried to keep his mind on what he was doing, but it kept drifting back to the preface he was supposed to be writing for the biography of his father. Trip had called it long-winded. _It's not long-winded!_ his mind argued. _There's just so much to say._

"Captain!"

T'Pol's voice came to him through the haze. He was on the bridge. He was piloting the ship. And this time T'Pol's warning wasn't just another course correction. Archer looked up at the screen. "I see it."

There was a huge asteroid dead ahead. They couldn't go around. As he watched, an intense gravitational shear pulled the rock apart. For a moment he thought they'd make it through one of the rapidly widening cracks, but he was wrong. A splinter at least twice as big as _Enterprise_ was still directly in their flight path.

"We need phase-cannons," he said, his voice strained.

"They take too long to charge," T'Pol said. Nevertheless, she rose and moved quickly to the tactical station. 

Several things happened at once. A piece of asteroidal debris struck the ship as T'Pol crossed the bridge. The ship rocked with the impact, and she staggered a step before catching herself on the railing. At the same moment, Lieutenant Reed's Tactical Alert siren began blaring.

Regaining her balance, T'Pol finished her trip to Tactical. She shifted Reed's unconscious form to one side so she could access the console. Her eyes widened at what she discovered. "All weapons are online," she informed the captain over the screeching of the siren. "It must be part of the new security protocol."

Archer didn't care _why_ the weapons were active. He only cared that they _were_. "Fire!" he ordered.

T'Pol fired both forward phase-cannons. A direct hit split the oncoming behemoth, but it wasn't quite enough. She quickly aimed and fired another burst. The last giant shard shattered, and Archer guided _Enterprise_ through the space where it had been.

"Could you shut that off?" he asked. It was hard enough to concentrate without a noise like a dyspeptic bagpipe screaming in his ears. The silence when T'Pol cut the siren was a brief but sweet moment of peace. "How much longer?"

"Less than ten seconds," the Vulcan said.

_I can do this,_ Jon thought. He continued to clutch the controls in a veritable death grip.

"Five more seconds."

And suddenly they were clear. The screen before them showed nothing but blackness speckled by millions of pinpoint sparkles of light.

Still not willing to trust that they were safe, Archer asked, "Any more surprises?"

"Nothing on sensors."

He looked at her, wondering when she'd returned to her own station. He shook his head and decided it really didn't matter.

Archer heard a noise to his right and looked over in time to see a dazed Trip just pushing himself to a kneeling position on the floor. The young blond looked at him groggily.

"Did we get some good pictures of the black hole?" Trip asked. Then he squinted as his brain registered his muscles' protest at moving after lying so still for so long on the hard deckplating.

Over at Tactical, Malcolm groaned. He levered himself upright and blinked several times, trying to identify where he was and what he was doing there. "Captain?" he said, spotting his C.O. at the helm. "What happened?"

"It's a long story," Archer replied. He rose and moved to help Trip to his feet.

"Thanks, Captain," the engineer said.

"I recommend everyone make a stop by sickbay before his or her next duty shift. There will be a command staff debriefing at" He paused, momentarily stymied, then looked over at T'Pol. "What time is it, Sub-commander?"

"2214, ship's time," she informed him.

Archer nodded knowingly; he didn't want to let on that he could really use a date to go with that time. "In that case," he continued, "debriefing at 0900 tomorrow morning."

*****

Phlox pressed a hypo against Cutler's neck. The ensign's eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him, confusion written on her delicate features.

"Phlox? What am I doing here?" she asked, looking around. She sat up and rubbed a sore spot on one wrist. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Was I strapped to this bed?"

The Denobulan looked as embarrassed as she'd ever seen him. "I'm afraid so. My apologies, Ensign," he said contritely. "I can only say in my defense that I wasn't myself when I sedated you."

Not knowing what else to say, Liz said simply. "Apology accepted." Slowly, her memory of what had happened returned. "How's Travis?"

"He's fine," said the man in question, poking his head around the screen that separated the biobed from the rest of sickbay. A smile quirked Travis's lips at the sight of his lover, disheveled and very sexy in her short red nightgown and robe. "You look nice."

Liz glanced down at herself. Her cheeks flushed and she looked at Phlox. "Could I borrow that surgical gown you mentioned earlier?"

*****

Cormack came to on the floor of her cabin. She hadn't a clue how she'd gotten there. Slowly, she rolled over onto her back and pushed herself up against the side of her bunk. The same 32 bars of music she'd been listening to for days were still playing.

"Fucking hell," she murmured. She reached out a hand and shut off the noise. The silence was positively blissful and she took a moment to bask in it.

She rubbed her fingers against bleary eyes.

"Ow! Shit! What the hell?" Stephanie looked down her hands. The nails of her right hand were split and torn, but it was nothing compared to the damage to her left. Her fingertips were swollen and cracked. Clearly she'd bandaged them at some point, but the synthetic sealant had long since worn off. Now her split skin was crusted with dried blood and puss. "Oh gross. That is disgusting!" She caught sight of the neck of the mock-up guitar, equally scummed with her bodily fluids. "I take it back. _That_ is disgusting." 

With her less damaged hand, she gingerly picked up the pseudo-guitar, intending to toss it into the trash to be resequenced into something more useful and less absurd. But she paused. "Is it bad enough to count as bio-hazard waste?" she wondered aloud. "Probably."

Gripping the neck and body as firmly as she could, she broke the thing over one knee, ripping the ends of the strings from the base. She discarded the body of the guitar form in the waste chute and wrapped the dangling strings around the neck.

She flexed the fingers of her injured hand, wincing. "Well, I need to go to sickbay anyway. I'll get rid of you there," she told the mass of plastic and wires.

*****

Malcolm and Trip were on their way to sickbay when they encountered Stephanie going in the same direction.

"Hello, gents," she said. "I see you're headed my way."

"Captain's recommendation," Malcolm informed her. "You?"

Stephanie held up her left hand. Both men winced at the sight. "I know. It's totally nasty. I feel like a little kid." She opened her eyes wide, adopting an innocent expression. "You wanna see something gross?" she said in an excited, childlike voice, and wiggled her fingers.

Reed chuckled, and even Trip cracked a smile.

"What's that thing?" Tucker asked, pointing at the item in Cormack's other hand.

"An experiment that went terribly wrong," the ensign said enigmatically. "It's as disgusting as this." She waved her injured fingers again. "So I figured it was best disposed of with the biological waste."

Trip looked at her dubiously. "Now I think I don't want to know."

"That's a good choice, sir," Cormack informed him.

They'd nearly reached sickbay when there was a hail for Lieutenant Reed. He backed up the few steps to the nearest comm panel to respond.

"Sir, we've just discovered aprisonerin the brig," Ensign Young informed him, his bewilderment obvious in his tone.

Neither Tucker nor Cormack had ever seen Reed look so aghast. "Let her out!" he ordered. "Immediately!"

"Wecan't, sir. The lock's been encrypted to your voice command."

Malcolm leaned his head against the bulkhead. He'd have laughed at the absurdity of it if he hadn't felt so badly about what he'd done. He took a deep breath to collect himself before responding. "All right. Tell her I'll be right there. Reed out."

"What the hell was that about?" asked Tucker.

"Iwas a bit overzealous in implementing my new security protocols," answered Reed abashedly.

"Yeah, I know. I heard the alarm. And if I remember right, you told me I took so long to respond that " Here Trip paused, savoring the moment of teasing his partner. "What were the exact words? Oh yeah. 'If this were a military situation you'd be taken out and shot,'" he quoted.

"At least I didn't slam you against a bulkhead," countered Malcolm, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

"Only 'cause I beat you to it."

Both men chuckled. Cormack eyed them both doubtfully.

"Tell me you were crazy at the time," she requested.

"Most decidedly," answered Reed, still laughing.

"Good. Because you two are my perfect couple. If you start fighting, I think my world will implode. Now, if you'll excuse me," she continued, oblivious to the reactions of the other officers, "I have an actual reason for wanting to get to sickbay."

"And I have aprisoner to release," said Malcolm, shaking himself from his momentary reverie. "I'll meet you in your quarters, all right?" He caught Trip's gaze to make sure his lover had actually heard his question; Trip seemed oddly distracted.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll meet you there," the blond man affirmed.

Reed smiled and turned to go back the way they had come.

"Hey, Lieutenant," Cormack called after him. Her curiosity won out briefly over the stinging pain in her fingers. "Who'd you throw in the brig?"

"Ensign Fraser," he called back. At Trip's and Stephanie's astonished looks, he just shook his head. "I'll tell you later." He stepped into the turbolift and was gone.

"I wonder what Bonnie was doing that the lieutenant locked her up?" wondered Cormack as she and Tucker continued toward sickbay. She intentionally referred to Malcolm by his title, not wanting to make Tucker uncomfortable by using his given name.

"No idea," the commander said. "She must've been doing something he considered a security breach. He's been prettyfocused on that Tactical Alert of his."

"We've all been pretty 'focused' lately. At least Lieutenant Reed's obsession was a useful one. Mine?" She snorted self-deprecatingly and glanced at what she carried. "Not so much." _And it'll be a damn long time before I listen to that song again,_ she added to herself.

Trip nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean," he agreed, thinking of his own fixation on building the captain a completely new chair when all the old one really needed was a little adjusting. Then it hit him. He knew exactly what he needed to do to the captain's chair. He laughed.

"Sir?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. _At least the measurements I took of the captain actually turned out to be useful,_ he thought, _even if it wasn't the way I planned to use them._

They reached sickbay and entered it. A number of crewmen were already there, either lying on biobeds or standing waiting for their turns. Surreptitiously, Cormack disposed of her burden into the bio-hazard waste chute before returning to stand by Trip and wait.

Tucker glanced down at her. "You could probably legitimately jump the line, you know," he said. "You've got the proof you need treatment right there." He pointed at her hand.

"Nah. I've waited this long. I can handle a few more minutes. Besides, it's pretty much just a dull throb unless I try to flex my fingers."

"You sure?" Trip was doubtful. He was no medic, but the sores on her fingers looked pretty gruesome to him.

"Yeah," Cormack assured him. She took a chance and leaned a little closer to him, and said conspiratorially, "I'm hoping I'll still be here when Lieutenant Reed checks in. Otherwise, I'm not going to get to find out what happened with Bonnie until tomorrow, and I hate waiting."

It was the third time in as many minutes she'd called Malcolm by his title. The nuance wasn't lost on Trip; he realized she was doing it for his benefit. "You don't have to keep doing that," he said quietly, not looking directly at her.

"Sorry." Cormack immediately straightened up, misunderstanding.

"Not that." Tucker sighed wearily. "You don't have to keep saying 'Lieutenant Reed.' You know his name. You use it when you talk to him off duty."

"I don't un—" she started to protest, but he cut her off.

"Sure you do. You don't have to use his title just 'cause you're talking to me. I know you're friends."

Cormack paused, thinking. She decided to take another chance. "I thought you were my friend at one time," she said. "I don't know what changed."

"Neither do I," admitted Trip. "But until I can figure it out, there's not really anything either of us can do."

"I can't help?"

Tucker shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Okay." It was an admission of defeat, and Stephanie hated saying it. "But you'll let me know. When you figure it out, I mean," she added. "You'll let me know, right?"

"Sure." He finally made eye contact with her and nodded halfheartedly. He doubted that time would ever come.

Cormack nodded back, trying to plaster a hopeful expression on her face. She could see the doubt in his pale blue eyes; he'd never been good at hiding his emotions. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Okay," she repeated.

Fortunately, they were rescued at that moment by Phlox. "Which of you is next?" the Denobulan asked them, looking from one to the other.

"Take the ensign first," said Trip. "She's hurt."

Phlox turned his concerned gaze to Cormack. "Ensign?"

Stephanie held up her hand. "I had a run-in with a guitar riff," she announced.

Her words caused both of her companions pause for different reasons. "I'm going to pretend I understand what you're talking about," the doctor said. "Please come with me." He led her off to a free biobed where she sat so he could treat her wounds.

Even from across the room, Trip could see her wince as the doctor cleaned and treated her damaged fingers. He found himself flinching in sympathy more than once. When he realized it, he forced himself to look away—just as Malcolm entered.

"Hey, Malcolm," said Trip, pleased.

"You still here?" the tactical officer remarked and smiled. "This is a pleasant surprise." He put an arm around Trip's waist, and the taller man leaned into his touch. It felt right, comfortable.

Cormack glanced up when she heard the door open and smiled as she witnessed the brief exchange between the two men. But an unexpected wave of melancholy caused her smile to fade slightly.

"Everything all right, Ensign?" Phlox asked her.

"What? Sure. I'm good."

"That's a matter of opinion," quipped the physician.

"Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say that?" she demanded in mock indignation.

"Because," answered Reed, who had caught their conversation out of the corner of his ear, "you are a known troublemaker."

Cormack wanted to protest, desperately searching for a reasonable argument to refute this claim. She found none. She settled for a little retribution instead. "See if I get you anything for your birthday this year," she said, jabbing a finger in Malcolm's direction.

"I'm not expecting you to," he informed her lightly. "After all, you couldn't top last year's gift."

"Oh! Oh, that's a challenge! You heard it." She looked at Phlox, Tucker, and anyone else who would make eye contact with her. "The man has thrown down the gauntlet."

Malcolm laughed. "I have done no such thing," he denied.

"You keep thinking that all you want. I know better."

"Stephanie"

"Nope." She held up her free hand to forestall his arguments. "I accept your challenge."

"We're more than two hundred light-years from Earth," Reed reminded her.

"Irrelevant. I'll figure something out."

In truth, Malcolm was curious now. It was less than a month until his birthday. If she didn't already have something planned, he couldn't imagine what she could come up with in that limited time and with such limited resources. His eyes narrowed as a possibility occurred to him, and he looked at her intently. _She wouldn't, would she?_

Cormack smiled at him innocently.

"You're finished, Ensign," Phlox informed her. "You're free to go."

She hopped off the biobed. "Thank you, Doctor," she said in her most polite voice. "I appreciate your care. Good night. Gentlemen," she added with a nod as she passed Reed and Tucker.

The couple watched her go.

Malcolm waited for the doors to shut before speaking. "Now I'm scared."

*****  
End Log 2:8  
_Completed 27 Nov 02_

Continued in Log 2:9


	9. Log 2:9

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Author's Note**: Huge apologies from my editrix and me to those of you who've been waiting for this chapter to be posted. The fact is my editrix had a hard time getting through this one because every time she got to a certain scene, she burst into uncontrollable laughter. Hopefully you, too, will find it that amusing. Thanks for your patience!

*****

**Log 2:9**: (Takes place immediately preceding, during, and immediately following _Vanishing Point_.)  
_Rating [R] - for language_

*****

"I'll see your three and raise you three more."

"I'm out." The redhead laid her cards face down and tucked a loose lock of hair behind one ear.

"That's six to me? All right." Several brightly colored candies clicked against each other as they were tossed into the pile in the middle of the round table. "There's six, and I'll raise you four."

"Playing hardball, eh?" said the fourth player, eyeing the woman to her right suspiciously. "I can do that. Your ten, and five more." A large candy joined the heap and was immediately followed by a smaller oval-shaped one.

The hand was back to the dealer. "I fold," she said. Hoshi collapsed her hand and leaned back in her chair to watch the rest of the action. That was how it had gone much of the night. She and Bonnie would end up folding early while Mae and Stephanie would try to out-bluff one another. In all honesty, she'd found watching the two of them battle it out to be more entertaining than actually playing poker herself.

"It's fifteen to you," said Cormack.

"I see it," Lawless replied. She considered her cards carefully, as if she didn't already know exactly what she was holding. "Your fifteen, and ten more." She tossed the corresponding candies into the kitty.

"The tension here in the arena is building," said Fraser in the hushed tones of a golf commentator. "The stakes are high, and the combatants look tough. For the play-by-play, here's Ho-Ho McSwirl. Ho-Ho?"

Well familiar with the game from their long evening so far, Hoshi picked up easily. "Thanks, Cupcake O'Fudge. Our players are eyeing one another carefully. Clearly, a lot is riding on this hand."

"That's right, Ho-Ho. There's a lot of chocolate on that table," put in Fraser.

"There certainly is. Cormack glances at her cards, down to her chips, and up again to her cards."

"You'd think she'd have them memorized by now, wouldn't you?"

Hoshi chuckled. "You sure would, Cupcake," she agreed. "Wait!" Her voice became suddenly excited, though still hushed. "She's reaching for her candies. She's counting them out"

"Your twenty-five," said Cormack, ignoring the running commentary. "And ten more."

"Wow!" exclaimed Sato. "I never saw that coming! How about you, Cupcake?"

"Amazing!" agreed Fraser. "Look at Lawless. She's so calm. How do you think she manages it?"

"I can't even imagine." Hoshi shook her head. "It's truly a sight to behold."

"Pure artistry of the craft, wouldn't you say?"

"I would."

This time Cormack waited silently to see what Lawless would do. She didn't want to appear too eager by goading her into action again. Finally, her patience paid off.

"You're bluffing," said Mae.

"It'll cost you thirty-five to find out for sure," countered Stephanie.

There was another pause as Mae considered it. "I'll take that chance." She tossed three almond-shaped chocolates and one peanut-shaped one into the pile. "I call."

Cormack didn't move. No emotion showed on her face. Lawless waited. Even Sato and Fraser were silent and still.

Finally, Cormack spoke.

"Bitch!" she declared. Laughing at her own defeat, she threw her cards down on the table so the others could see what she'd held.

"You bet that much on a pair of eights?!" exclaimed Lawless in amazement.

"Oh shut up. I bluffed you all with a pair of sixes earlier." Stephanie sat back from the table and watched as Mae claimed her winnings.

Bonnie leaned in to collect the cards into a neat stack. Hers was the next deal.

"Who's up for another round?" asked Mae gleefully.

"I'll pass," said Cormack.

"Bummer!" said Fraser, shuffling the cards. "I was going to make one-eyed Jacks and the suicide King wild in the next hand."

"Why do you have this bizarre fixation with one-eyed Jacks?" asked Hoshi. "Every hand you've dealt has had some quirk involving one-eyed Jacks."

"It was her dog," said Mae.

"What?"

Fraser piped up in explanation. "I had a dog called One-Eyed Jack-of-All-Trades when I was kid."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me he didn't actually have only one eye," put in Cormack.

"No. He had one blue eye and one brown eye."

"Husky?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"So," said Lawless, trying to get back to the topic of poker. "Are we playing another hand or what?"

"I'm out," Cormack reaffirmed her earlier statement. She stretched and yawned. "Some of us have early shifts tomorrow."

"Full day?" asked Bonnie.

"Thankfully no. Just a half-shift tomorrow, but that doesn't make it any less early. On the up side, I'll be done by 1000 hours. Anyone interested in joining me in the gym at 1015?"

"I can't," said Hoshi, nibbling her sparse poker winnings. "We're supposed to reach that M-class planet we spotted the other day. So far it looks like it's clear of any sentient inhabitants, but I'm supposed to be on hand in case our scans are wrong."

"If they need any security for a landing party," said Cormack quickly, "feel free to drop my name."

"I'll keep that in mind," said the comm officer with a half smile.

"I'll meet you tomorrow, Stephanie," Mae said, once again the one to bring the discussion back on topic. "I'm not due in Engineering until 1400. How about you, Bonnie? You interested?" She looked at her bunkmate inquiringly.

"Sure. Sounds good to me," Bonnie answered.

"Cool," said Cormack. "Oh, Hoshi! I almost forgot. Are we still on for Wednesday night?"

"Sure. I've already cleared it," replied Sato.

"Excellent!"

"What's Wednesday?" asked Fraser, an odd tone in her voice.

Only Lawless noticed, and it took her a moment to place it. Suddenly she remembered an unfinished conversation she'd had with her bunkmate several weeks ago. She'd thought about it a number of times, but never when she could follow up on it. Maybe tonight would be her opportunity.

"Cooking," explained Cormack. "I only have two weeks until Malcolm's birthday, and I need time to experiment with his present." 

"And you need the galley for this?" asked Mae curiously.

"Yep." Stephanie yawned again. "Well, beautiful ladies, I'm going to take my chocolate and say good night." She scooped the candies into the bag that had held her original stake and pulled the string on it shut. She stood. "Good night. Thanks for playing hostess, Hoshi."

"No problem," Sato replied. "I'm glad I could join you this time."

Fraser and Lawless rose, too, having collected their own winnings into their sacks.

"You want help moving the table back to its usual place?" asked Mae.

Hoshi shook her head. "No thanks. I can get it."

"Okay."

Good-nights were said by all and the three women departed, leaving Sato in the silence of their wake. She sighed, smiling, and ate another chocolate before setting about returning the room to its normal state of order.

With a final tired, "G'night," Cormack split off from the others at a cross corridor, heading to her cabin.

Lawless and Fraser continued in silence to the quarters they shared. It wasn't until they were inside with the door sealed behind them that Lawless pounced.

"Tell me what happened after the concert."

Bonnie, her mind on tomorrow rather than the past, looked at her blankly. "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded finally.

"The Daughters of Lear concert you saw."

"That? Shit." She was momentarily stymied. "I thought you'd forgotten all about that," she said, stalling.

"I did. Now I remember. So what happened?" Lawless kicked off her boots and sat cross-legged on her bunk. She opened her bag of candies and began to munch.

Fraser stood there, still unsure what to do. Her bunkmate looked like a kid waiting for a bedtime story, and she had the feeling she wasn't going to get off the hook without giving it to her. "You really want to know?"

"Uh-huh," affirmed Mae. "You were going to tell me before. Now you can tell me now."

"That made sense."

"Shut up and tell me."

"That made even more sense."

Mae eyed her intensely. "You are going to tell me now."

"Premonition?" quipped Bonnie, sitting on her bunk.

"Fact. I'm not letting you sleep until I know what the hell happened after that concert. I can wait. I got plenty of chocolate." She shook the bag for emphasis; candies clacked lightly against one another.

Resigned, Fraser sighed. "Okay. But—" She paused to make sure she had Lawless's full attention. She needn't have worried. "—you cannot tell _anyone_, _ever_. Especially not Stephanie."

"What?" This made no sense to the engineer. "What do you—?" Realization struck. "She has no idea you've met before, does she?"

Bonnie shook her head. "Not a clue. And it gets worseor better, depending on your point of view."

Now Mae was doubly intrigued. She hunched forward eagerly. "What happened?"

Bonnie had seriously mixed feelings about telling her friend the story. There were all sorts of possible ramifications, any one of which could make living together for the rest of the mission awkward if not impossible. She hoped she was making the right decision.

"Okay," she said finally. "Remember I told you she was really fucked up back then?"

"Yeah. I know. Go on."

"Well, my friends and my cousin and I were hanging out after the concert. Just standing around behind the gym where the concert was, waiting to see if maybe the band would come out past where we were. It was a pretty safe bet since there was this big truck there. Anyway." She paused in her narrative, collecting her thoughts.

"It was getting late. The others were ready to give up. It was Spring Break in Yellowknife, after all; hanging out behind a college gymnasium wasn't exactly the warmest or most exciting place to be. We nearly gave up. But then the band came out." She smiled, remembering the moment. "They looked just as cool lugging their shit to the truck as they did in concert. Cordelia was definitely the hottest. Pete argued that it was Regan, but he was so wrong."

"Whoa. Cordelia is Stephanie."

"I know that," said Bonnie with the tone one uses to instruct a particularly slow child.

"Sorry. Go on."

"I think it was the pink hair that won me over. Although the leather boots, the ripped up jeans, and tight t-shirt didn't hurt," she added lasciviously. "She has great tits, you know?" At Mae's impatient expression, Bonnie yanked herself forcibly back to the present and continued. "The others were kind of shy, but I was young and particularly stupid, so I asked if I could help them load their truck."

"You didn't!"

"I did."  
  
"What happened?"

"They were thrilled to have the help. So we all helped them load everything up, and we got talking, and Cari said she knew a good bar we could go to, and we went."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. Don't ask."

"Okay. Go on."

"Well, I don't remember a whole lot, but I know we got pretty wasted, eh?"

"I guess that's why you don't remember a whole lot," teased Mae dryly.

"You think? Anyway, at some point Goneril and Regan—we never learned their real names—they wandered off to the motel they were staying at for the one night they were in town, and Cari and the others wandered off to Cari's place on campus." She paused again, not quite certain how to approach the next part of her tale.

"The others being?" prompted Mae. She was into the story now, her bag of chocolates sitting discarded at her side.

"Cari and my friends, Pete and Darragh."

"Leaving you"

"with Cordelia." Fraser paused again. "A very drunk Cordelia."

"And a pretty damn drunk Bonnie, I'd guess."

"Yeah."

"So what did you do?"

"We found a party. You know, Spring Break?" Mae nodded and Bonnie continued. "We got a couple more drinks there—hell if I know what was in them, but they were _strong_. Then wefound a room."

Mae's eyes widened. "You?"

Bonnie nodded. "We spent what was left of the night fucking like howler monkeys."

Mae hadn't thought her eyes could open farther, but they did. "Ohmygods. You didn't," she denied, although she already believed it was true.

"We did." A smile split Bonnie's face. "It was great."

"Stop!" Lawless stuck her fingers in her ears and started chanting, "La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la—" 

"Mae?"

Mae paused just long enough to say, "Do _not_ say anything more. I do not want to know anything more." She resumed her chanting.

Fraser gave a nervous chuckle, uncertain how to respond to her bunkmate's reaction. She'd tried joking over the noise, "What? You don't want to know what two chicks do?"

Lawless let her hands fall from her ears. "I know what two chicks do! I just don't need images of my bunkmate and my best friend doing what two chicks do _in my brain_!"

Now Bonnie relaxed and laughed in relief. Mae wasn't really upset, just a little freaked out. "That's crossing that Too Much Information line you've told me about, isn't it?"

"Yes! What, weren't the fingers in the ears and the la-las enough to tell you that?" Mae took a moment to calm down. "Well," she said after a moment's thought, "I think it's safe to say that I will never, _ever_, share that story with _anyone_. _Especially_ Stephanie."

"So are we cool?" asked Bonnie, just to make sure. Despite everything, she was worried things might have changed between them.

"Of course we are. It's going to be a week before I can look _Cormack_ in the eye," Lawless joked. "No. Seriously. It's cool." Now she regarded Fraser carefully, and Bonnie squirmed a little at her scrutiny.

"What?" the helmsman asked.

"I always knew you thought she was hot," Mae said. Bonnie nodded in affirmation. "Just now I know so much more than I ever needed to."

"You asked," the auburn-haired woman pointed out in her defense.

"Yes, I did. Gods help me, but I did." Lawless chuckled at herself. "So what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You want to ask her out, right?"

There was no point denying it. "Yeah."

"Are you going to?"

A shrug.

"You should."

Another shrug.

"You should," repeated Mae more firmly.

"After what I told you, you say that?" Bonnie was dumbfounded. "I can't! A drunken one-night stand is one thing. A drunken one-night stand one person doesn't even remember Forget it. I can't tell her. And if we actually hit it off and started dating, I couldn't _not_ tell her. No way. Absolutely not!" She shook her head emphatically.

"Hey, it's all right." Mae eased off. Her friend's vehement denial surprised her, but she thought she could guess the reason. "You really like her, don't you? I mean a lot."

"I don't know."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Mae! Shit!" Fraser was frustrated. "It doesn't matter. There's nothing I can do about it, so drop it."

"But you guys get along great! You'd make a cool couple."

Now the helmsman was angry. "Stop it!" she shouted.

Lawless was completely taken aback. She'd known for a long time her bunkmate had a temper, she'd just never been so unfortunate as to have it directed at her. "I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"Thank you," said Bonnie sharply.

There was a silence while Fraser calmed down and Lawless considered her next words. "You still want to work out with Stephanie and me tomorrow?" she asked finally.

"Yeah." Bonnie gave her friend a half-smiling, half-sad look. "Just 'cause I can't ask her out doesn't mean I can't hang out with her, right?"

"Sure." Mae nodded, hoping she sounded encouraging. She felt badly for Bonnie, and already she was trying to come up with a way to fix the problem her friend faced. There had to be a way.

Bonnie noticed Mae scrutinizing her once again. "Now what?" she demanded, although her anger had already faded.

Realizing she suddenly needed a cover story if she didn't want to let her friend in on her scheming, Lawless leapt on the first thing that came to mind. "Howler monkeys?" she asked skeptically.

"Have you ever seen howler monkeys at the zoo? They have a sexually structured hierarchy."

"Stop!" Mae help up a warding hand. "I know I asked for it, but just stop or I'm going to have to start going la-la-la all over again."

"You don't even know the half of it," Bonnie grinned wickedly.

Another chorus of Lawless's chanting filled the cabin and was joined by Fraser's laughter.

*****

"Well, Trip," said Archer, smiling at his Chief Engineer, "I promised you you could go to the next M-class planet we visited. Now's your chance."

Tucker looked at his old friend curiously. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you never promised me that," he said.

"Sure I did. You just weren't in the room at the time."

"Huh." Trip nodded and decided to let the argument go. He was happy to be going on this mission; he didn't want to risk the captain changing his mind.

Lieutenant Reed climbed out of the waiting shuttlepod. "You're ready to go, Commander. The equipment is loaded, and Hoshi's waiting inside—rather impatiently, I might add," he said in mild amusement.

The comm officer stuck her head through the open hatch in the pod's port side. "That's right," she affirmed. "Let's go."

They'd spotted some interesting features on the planet they currently orbited. They couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be man-made caves in the mountain range of the southern hemisphere. Hoshi had fond memories of the Ajanta and Ellora Caves outside Aurangabad, India, and the beautiful murals and frescos there; she was excited to see if there was anything similar to be found below.

Of course, there was also the matter of the electrical storms that swept the area periodically. The nearest one was several hundred kilometers from their intended landing site, but there was no guarantee it wouldn't suddenly head in their direction. Sato wanted to be in and out before there was any chance of that happening.

Archer chuckled at the young woman's eagerness. It was gratifying to see her so excited. He'd worked hard to convince her to join the crew in the first place, and he knew she'd been far from comfortable for several months after leaving Earth. He was pleased she had adjusted so well.

"Duty calls, Trip," the captain said and gestured to the open hatch.

Hoshi returned to her seat in the pod, making room for the engineer to enter. He paused at the hatch just long enough to whisper something in Malcolm's ear before climbing inside. Malcolm's lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile.

"See you in a few hours," Tucker added so both Reed and Archer could hear. He reached up and pulled the hatch closed, securing it.

The remaining officers quickly climbed the metal staircase to the upper level of the launch bay and entered the control room. A crewman stood ready at the console.

When the door to the room was sealed, Archer said, "Proceed with the launch, Crewman."

"Aye, sir," the young man said. He entered the necessary commands, and the bay began to depressurize for the launch.

With nothing else pressing, Archer and Reed both decided to watch the shuttlepod launch. It would only take a couple of minutes, after all. Once the bay door was firmly sealed behind the departed pod, the pair made their way back to the bridge. The entire way, Malcolm's tiny smile never faded. Archer was dying to know what Trip had said to the armory officer, but it was juvenile and beyond rude to ask. Still, whatever it was had had Malcolm smiling for nearly five minutes now. As far as the captain knew, that had to be some sort of record. He sighed and mentally added it to the list of mysteries he'd never have answered.

In the small space of the turbolift, Reed noticed the sigh. "Everything all right, sir?" he asked solicitously.

"Just fine," replied Archer, thinking up a quick cover. "I just wish I was on the mission with Trip and Hoshi."

"You could have gone, sir," said the lieutenant, mildly puzzled. He didn't generally like the captain going on away missions; it made him far more difficult to protect, and Starfleet captains were valuable. This time, however, with no sign of sentient life below them, and the only apparent threat a storm several hundred kilometers off, he would have had no trouble with Archer joining the landing party.

"It was Trip's turn," Archer said. "And the job will get done faster without me there."

"Sir?"

"Never mind." He would have explained, but they were nearly to the bridge, and he didn't feel the need to share the conversation with the rest of the bridge crew.

"Yes, sir."

_And Malcolm will never ask about it again,_ thought Archer. This was one of the many differences between Malcolm and Trip; Trip would have grabbed on like a dog with a bone until he got an answer. Malcolm would simply assume it was none of his concern and let the matter drop. _Like he just has._ Archer almost shook his head at the dichotomy of character of the two men, but stopped himself. 

The lift opened then, and the two men stepped out onto the bridge.

*****

"Typical," razzed Lawless at Cormack's late arrival. "You plan this little gathering, and you're the last one here."

"Oh, yeah. And I'm sure it was so difficult for you to drag yourself out of bed to get here at this incredibly early hour," was Stephanie's sarcastic rejoinder. "While some of us have been up since 0500." She stuck out her tongue, then tossed her yoga mat to one side and put up her fists. "Wanna fight about it?"

Mae laughed. "No." She turned to her bunkmate. "How about you?"

Bonnie considered the offer carefully. While the thought of a wrestling match with the blonde woman appealed, she'd have preferred it in a different location and with different accessories than the ship's gym provided. "I think I'll pass this time."

Stephanie lowered her arms and pouted playfully. "You guys are no fun. Weights?"

"Weights," the others agreed.

The gym was empty of other occupants that morning. The trio claimed a weight bench, and Lawless set it for the first round of warm-up presses. She looked at Cormack and gestured to the bench. "Age before beauty," she quipped.

"By six months!" exclaimed Cormack. But she laid down anyway. "You're especially sharp this a.m. What gives?"

"Much coffee."

"Ah."

"I'll spot you," offered Fraser. She tossed her head in the direction of her bunkmate. "She's had so much coffee, I'd be afraid to trust her not to drop the bar on me."

"Ha, ha," replied Lawless, but she stepped aside to let Bonnie take her place at the top of the bench. She had no intention of getting in Fraser's way if the woman wanted to get close to Cormack.

Stephanie looked up from the bench at the auburn-haired helmsman. "Fine by me. It's a nice view," she said, smiling. She claimed the weighted bar and began her warm-up, not noticing the quick look exchanged by her companions. She was several presses in when she glanced up again and started laughing and nearly lost control of the bar.

Quickly, Bonnie took it from her and set in its rests. "What is so funny?"

"I just figured out what your shirt says," answered Stephanie as she regained her breath, and her laughter calmed.

Fraser hadn't even thought about it when she'd dressed. She had just grabbed the first tank she found in her locker. She glanced down at herself, and then grinned at the recumbent armory officer. "Well it's true!"

"And it got you to look at her tits," pointed out Lawless helpfully.

"Mae!" exclaimed Bonnie. Mae just winked at her.

This just made Cormack laugh harder. "I think someone better take my place here." She sat up and swung her legs to one side. "Bonnie?" she offered.

Bonnie looked innocently at her bunkmate instead. "You said age before beauty," she said pleasantly.

Cormack snorted. "Did I say you guys were no fun? I was so wrong!"

"Oh just get out of the way," said Lawless. She wasn't at all upset with the ribbing, actually. It fit in well with her plan to get her bunkmate together with her friend—as had rearranging Bonnie's gym gear so that a particular shirt was on top that morning. She wanted to make sure Stephanie knew what her options were.

Mae laid back on the bench and took a moment to steal a glance at the others as she made herself comfortable. Already she had them laughing together; it was a good beginning. She re-read Bonnie's shirt, pleased that even upside-down and backward, Cormack had gotten the bright purple message: Silly Boy! Girls Are Just Better.

She grinned and began her warm-up presses.

*****

T'Pol had been watching her monitors closely over the last hour. She believed she finally had enough data to make her report. She opened a comm line to the captain's ready room. "Captain Archer to the bridge, please," she said.

"Acknowledged," came the reply.

T'Pol took a moment to transfer the data from her station to the large display table at the aft end of the bridge.

Archer emerged from the ready room. "What is it?" he asked

T'Pol rose and moved toward him. "I have some information." She looked past the captain to the tactical station. "Lieutenant, please join us." She led the way to the table.

Reed immediately recognized the data before him. It was a sensor reading of the diamagnetic storm patterns on the planet below them. He'd been keeping an eye on them as well, in case they made a sudden move in the direction of the landing party. They hadn't, and he wondered what T'Pol had found.

"This storm—" The Vulcan indicated a particularly nasty looking weather pattern. "—has been moving steadily south toward the mountains and the landing party."

"They're not in any immediate danger," Archer commented.

"No, but they will be should they remain as long as originally intended. I recommend they stay no more than another hour and forty minutes before returning to _Enterprise_."

Reed did some quick calculations while she spoke. "Agreed," he said. "Any longer, and they won't be able to fly the pod out safely."

"All right. Malcolm, let them know."

"Aye, sir." Reed moved to the unmanned comm station and opened a line to the surface. 

It was Trip who replied. "Thanks, Malcolm. We'll be sure to keep a close eye on the time."

Hoshi's voice came over the line. "Are you sure we don't need to head back sooner?" she asked.

"Sub-commander T'Pol's calculations are perfectly reliable, Ensign," answered Reed. He exchanged a mildly bemused look with the science officer, who had followed him back as far as her own station.

"Of course, Lieutenant. Thank you."

"You'll let us know if anything else turns up, right?" put in Tucker.

"Absolutely," Archer assured the engineer. He leaned against the rail that ringed the comm station. "Go have fun, but make sure you leave when T'Pol said."

Reed thought he sounded a bit condescending, but he realized by the smile on Archer's face that he was just teasing his old friend. For a brief moment, he envied Archer's freedom to behave in such a relaxed and comfortable way with a member of his crew while on duty. Then he remembered that was one of the things that bothered him about the Captain's command style. _You can't have it both ways,_ he chided himself silently. _Trip may be right. Perhaps I _should_ reconsider my opinions on the matter._

"Aye, Captain. Tucker out."

The words pulled Reed's attention back to the matter at hand, and he closed the comm before returning to his seat at Tactical.

*****

As it turned out, the landing party didn't have that much time. An unexpected storm front appeared, pushing the first, much smaller storm ahead of it. Now it was too late to fly out. The polaric energy would blow out the pod's system if they tried it, but they couldn't stay where they were, either. The caves were no guarantee of safety against a diamagnetic storm of such intensity. They would have to be transported out one at a time.

While Archer explained the situation to Tucker and Sato, Reed headed to the transporter chamber. He quickly but thoroughly checked the systems, making absolutely certain everything was functioning properly, then hailed the bridge.

"I'm ready to transport, Captain," he said when Archer answered the hail.

"Understood."

There was a moment's pause before a new hail came through.

"Tucker to _Enterprise_." Trip had to shout to be heard over the gusting wind and rumbling thunder.

"I read you, Commander," replied Malcolm.

"Ready to go."

Tucker didn't even have time to close his communicator before the transporter beam grabbed him. It was a disconcerting effect watching the world dissolve around him, but knowing it was he who was actually being disassembled. It was only seconds later that reality coalesced around him and he found himself back aboard _Enterprise_.

"That was a wild ride," he commented, happy to step off the platform.

Reed allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before prepping the machine to transport Sato. Tucker took his place beside him as Hoshi's strained voice came over the comm.

"Commander?"

"Safe and sound," replied Trip.

"I'm on my way, sir." There was a pause as, presumably, Sato got into position outside the structure she and Trip had been exploring. "Ensign Sato ready for transport."

Reed engaged the mechanism.

When Hoshi didn't immediately appear on the transporter pad, Tucker looked to Reed. "What's the problem?"

"The stream's too unstable," the lieutenant answered tightly.

A thought washed through Trip's mind on a wave of guilt. _I should've made her go first!_ Aloud he simply said, "Come on, Hoshi. Come on."

"You can do it, Ensign," added Reed softly, hands moving confidently over the transporter controls. "It's as easy as one, two" A shimmering figure began to coalesce on the pad. "three," Reed finished, smiling.

"Nice work, Malcolm," said Trip, giving his partner a pat on the back. He took a step toward Sato. "See, I told you, piece of cake," he said encouragingly. He would have offered her a hand with the equipment case she held, but the ensign swiftly set it down and hurried past him.

"Where are they? We have to stop them," she said.

"Who?" Tucker asked, surprised.

Sato stopped and looked at him then at Reed. "You heard me? You can hear me? Do you see me?"

"Everything's fine, Hoshi," Malcolm tried to reassure her.

Hoshi would have none of it. "It's _not_ fine," she insisted. "They put a bomb on the warp reactor." She tried to rush out, but Trip caught her fleeing form, stopping her at the turbolift.

"Who?" demanded Reed. His concern for the ship's safety became concern for Sato when she answered.

"The aliens from the surface."

Tucker held Hoshi by the elbows. "There's no one on the surface—it's uninhabited," he reminded her, trying to calm her down.

She broke away from him. She was frantic. Why couldn't they understand? "What are you talking about? They kidnapped you and Travis! We've got to stop them!"

"Hoshi, the transporter was affected by the storms," Malcolm said calmly, hoping his tone would have a similar effect on her. "I had some trouble reintegrating your matter stream."

Finally, Sato's agitation seemed to fade slightly. She looked over at Reed. "Trouble?" she asked, confused.

"You were sort oftrapped in the pattern buffer. But only for a few seconds." Trip tried to sound reassuring, but was only marginally successful.

"Eight point three seconds to be precise," put in Malcolm, thinking that perhaps solid facts and figures would pull the ensign back to reason.

Hoshi thought about their words. "Are you saying that I was just on the surface?"

"You insisted on going second?" Trip reminded her, his tone questioning.

Slowly, Hoshi's heart stopped its racing and she began to relax. "Do you have a mirror?" she asked suddenly.

Reed looked at her, bemused. "What?"

"Forget it." She gave a quick, embarrassed smile. "And I was sure I was going to be the next Cyrus Ramsey," she joked.

Tucker and Reed both looked at her, once again concerned. "Cyrus who?" Trip asked.

Sato looked back and forth between the men, wondering if they were kidding. It was clear from their perplexed expressions that they were not. "Forget it," she repeated. "I think I'm going to go clean up."

"I think maybe you should stop by sickbay," suggested Tucker. Hoshi, though calmer than she had been moments ago, still looked flustered and a bit worse for the stress of her first transport.

She nodded. "I will. Thanks." She hailed the lift and, giving the men what she hoped was a reassuring smile so they wouldn't think she was completely insane, stepped inside and was whisked away.

Malcolm looked at Trip. "What was that all about?"

"I wish I knew." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Maybe we'll find out later?" He glanced down and realized the equipment they'd taken to the surface still needed to be cleaned up and put away. He sighed.

"I'll take care of it," Reed said, noticing Trip's gaze and his reaction to what he saw.

Tucker gave him an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Malcolm. I'd kind of like to get cleaned up myself."

"Shame. I quite like the windblown, scruffy look you're sporting." Malcolm gave his partner a suggestive smile.

"Why, Lieutenant Reed," said Trip, playing at being shocked. "I never would have expected that of you. At least," he added, "not on duty."

Malcolm glanced surreptitiously around, making sure there was no one else nearby. Certain there was no danger of them being observed, he stepped closer to Trip and ran his fingers through tousled blond hair. When his touch reached the back of Trip's neck, he pulled the engineer's face toward his own and planted a long, searing kiss on the younger man's lips. Releasing the embrace, he stepped back once again and smiled. "I doubt you were expecting that on duty, either," he said.

"Uhhno," agreed Trip, a grin splitting his handsome face. "What was that for?"

"That was for transporting safely and successfully for the very first time."

"All I did was stand there," Trip pointed out. "You did all the work."

"Then perhaps you can find a way to thank me later," suggested Malcolm slyly.

Tucker considered the possibility. "I'm sure I can come up with something."

Reed collected up the two cases of equipment as Tucker hailed the turbolift. The doors opened, and the men stepped inside.

"You know," Trip began, "I didn't see you welcoming Hoshi home safe from her first trip through the transporter like that." His tone was teasing.

Malcolm looked at him sidelong. "I'm sorry. Did you want me to?" he asked too innocently.

"Uh. No," answered Trip firmly. Malcolm just grinned.

*****

"Bridge to the Captain," said T'Pol.

"Go ahead," replied Archer over the ship's comm.

"The diamagnetic storms have cleared sufficiently for us to retrieve the shuttlepod. We have a window of approximately fifty-three minutes before another storm reaches the site."

"Thank you, Sub-commander. Archer out." The captain closed the comm over his bunk and looked down at Porthos, who was languishing on his dog-bed. "You want to go for a ride?" he asked the beagle. Porthos only yawned and stretched out on the cushion. "Are you still sulking because I wouldn't give you any cheese?" Archer shook his head, chuckling at the little dog.

He reached over and opened the comm once more. "Archer to Tucker."

The response was immediate. "Go ahead, Captain."

"There's a shuttlepod on the planet that needs to be brought home. Interested?"

"I parked it," joked the engineer. "I should probably go get it."

"I'll have Malcolm meet you in the launch bay," said Archer, making a sudden decision. He'd originally planned to go with Trip himself. He didn't know why he'd changed his mind on the spur of the moment, but he felt it was the right thing to do.

"He'sright here, sir. He heard you."

Archer raised an eyebrow at this bit of information. "I see. I hope I didn't interrupt anything." He imagined he could hear Trip blushing. 

"No, sir," the engineer said after a brief pause.

Jon smirked to himself. "Glad to hear it. Now you two get moving. We only have a limited window of opportunity here."

"Yes, sir!"

Archer closed the comm, then sat down on his bunk and looked over at Porthos. He patted the spot next to him invitingly. The beagle looked at him appraisingly before jumping up to join him.

"Finally forgiven me, huh?" Jon said, scratching the dog's head affectionately. "Don't think I'm going to break down and give you any cheese."

Porthos barked once and leapt off the bed.

Archer sighed. "Traitor." He glance back at the comm panel, thinking of the conversation he'd just had. "At least someone on this ship is enjoying pleasant company this evening."

*****

Cormack sat on the edge of her bunk to pull on her shoes. Liz would be off-duty shortly and they were meeting for dinner. The pair hadn't seen much of each other lately; they'd been working different shifts and each had been busy with her own things.

_Like Travis,_ thought Stephanie with a smile. Then her smile faded a little. She was glad Liz and Travis were so happy together, but it reminded her of her own unattached state. _Since when has that bothered you?_ she asked herself. 

She rose and moved to the mirror, and glared at her wild hair. Not having had to work that afternoon, she'd let it go free after her shower. Now the curls were starting to get in her face and on her nerves. She quickly fished a large silver clip from her locker and used it to leash her hair. _Not particularly elegant, but efficient,_ she thought.

A quick glance at the bedside chronometer told her she'd better get going. She straightened her short brown sweater, checking her image in the mirror one last time before leaving the cabin.

As Stephanie walked briskly down the E-deck corridor, her thoughts wandered back to her bunkmate and she found herself frowning once more. _What is your problem? You_ like _Travis. He treats Liz well, makes her happy_ But she knew what the problem was, although she didn't like to admit it even to herself. Stephanie was jealous. She recognized it as a recent development, and wondered at it.

_I've never minded being single,_ she thought as she walked. _Always preferred itat least I thought so. So what the hell?_

She almost ran into Hoshi before she realized the young woman was even there.

"Oh! Sorry!" exclaimed Cormack, forcibly yanked from her musings.

"It's okay," replied Hoshi amiably. "You were obviously thinking pretty hard."

"Too hard. I think I hurt myself." Cormack hoped it sounded like a joke, but wasn't sure she'd managed it. She was glad another subject suddenly occurred to her. "Hey! I heard you made your first transport today. How'd it go?"

The look on Sato's face spoke volumes. "I hope I never have to do that again," she declared fervently.

"What happened?"

" According to all accounts, I got trapped in the pattern buffer for eight point three seconds." It was a number the comm officer was unlikely ever to forget.

"Damn," said Cormack with genuine sympathy. "That must have been weird. I bet it felt more like forever, eh?"

"No. Just a day and a half."

"What?"

Hoshi shook her head. "I'll tell you about it later, when I'm not so freaked out by it."

"That's fair. You can tell me while we're cooking on Wednesday."

"I think I'll be sane by then," joked Hoshi. "Do you have the ingredients list I asked for? I need to clear it all with Chef before we start, to make sure he has everything you need."

"Yeah. I'll send it to you after dinner. Now I've got to run. Dinner date," Stephanie added by way of explanation.

"Meeting up with Bonnie, huh?" asked Sato with a smile.

Cormack froze for a split second. "No," she said. "Liz. Kind of sucks when you have to make a date just to see your own bunkmate, eh? We've been pretty busy lately, so when we realized we had the same evening free, we figured we'd meet up for dinner." She was babbling and she knew it. She forced herself to shut up.

"Oh! My mistake." Hoshi looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I better go. I'm pretty tired so I'm turning in early. Nice quiet evening with a good book, you know?"

"Right," agreed Stephanie, nodding too emphatically. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah. See you." Sato made a hasty exit, escaping into the nearest turbolift. She was mentally kicking herself for her assumptions. She'd honestly thought Cormack and Fraser were dating. Clearly she was wrong, and she felt like a complete idiot for mentioning it. _But she was out of uniform!_ her mind insisted. _She looked like she was going on a date._

She was dressed for a day off, not a date, she argued back at herself. She stepped out of the lift and walked quickly to her cabin. _What's the old saying? "Never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless you can see the baby actually emerging from her body." Someone needs to make up a version of that for when people are going out!_

Back on E-deck, Cormack hadn't moved. Sato had unwittingly put her finger precisely on the problem that had been bothering Stephanie, clearly defining it for the tactical officer. _You've got the hots for Bonnie,_ she thought, bewildered but knowing it was true. Then she corrected herself. _No. Not just the hots. You really like her._

The gentle tap on her shoulder caused her to start.

"Sorry," said Liz. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," her bunkmate assured her as her heart returned from its frantic patter to its usual steady pace.

"What were you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

Liz chuckled bemusedly. "You were just standing in the middle of the corridor like you were in another world."

"Just thinking."

"Well don't hurt yourself," teased the exobiologist.

"Thanks," answered Stephanie dryly. She forced herself to smile, shoving her new revelation aside. Part of her wanted to talk to Liz about it, but first she wanted to think about it on her own. "Hungry?" she asked brightly.

"Starved!"

"Then let's go eat. And you can tell me what all you've been doing lately."

*****

"So," said Trip as he and Malcolm flew toward the planet below, "what do you want to do for your birthday?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Malcolm admitted. "Why?"

"Why? Well, because it's your birthday, and I thought you might like to celebrate it somehow."

"You're not thinking of a party are you?" Reed asked with some trepidation.

"I think I know you well enough by now to know that wouldn't go over real well," answered Tucker dryly. "I was just trying to think of something special we could do to mark the occasion."

Malcolm smiled. "That's very sweet of you, but you don't have to do anything for my birthday."

"Are you kidding? Of course I do. I just thought you might want to have a little input on it."

"That all depends. What did you have in mind?"

"Me?" replied Trip too innocently. "Nothing in particular."

"I know that tone. What are you planning?"

"Nothing much. I thought maybe a romantic dinner for two in the captain's private dining room might be nice."

"And which of us will be dining with Captain Archer?" inquired Reed wryly.

"Neither. He already said we could borrow it that evening."

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at his partner. "You asked the Captain already?"

"I wanted to make sure it was okay before I suggested it to you."

"I see. What other plans do have for the evening in question?"

"Nothing. Really. We could go to the movie if you wanted to." He paused. "Although I was hoping for somequality time with you."

"You haven't cleared that with the captain, I trust."

"No!" Trip couldn't quite tell from Malcolm's tone if he was serious or just playing with him. He figured he'd better find out. "Everything okay?"

Reed sighed. "Yes," he said. "I do wish you'd asked me about dinner before you asked Captain Archer, but I'll get over it." Malcolm still had trouble with the fact that Trip was so comfortable making personal requests of the captain, but he knew it was his problem and he would continue to deal with it as best he could.

"So you're not mad?"

"No. Of course not. It was very thoughtful of you."

Tucker smiled, although with his eyes trained ahead for their landing site Reed didn't see it. "In that case, is there anything special you want for dinner that night?"

"Anything but fish," Malcolm said. "Otherwise I'm sure whatever you decide will be fine. But good luck to you getting Chef to fix it."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't mind cooking whatever we want," said Trip confidently.

His tone sent up warning signals along the armory officer's skin. "You're going to get the Captain to ask him, aren't you?" he accused.

"I'm sure as hell gonna try. I think the Captain and Hoshi are the only people on this ship who Chef actually likes, and he won't take orders from Hoshi."

Malcolm laughed. "I think you're right."

Tucker checked the sensors while Reed guided the shuttlepod gently through the planet's atmosphere, eyes peeled for any unexpected storm fronts. "We're coming up on the landing site," the engineer informed him. "It's about ten kilometers dead ahead."

Moments later, Reed spotted the pod. "I see it. I'm taking us down." Skilled hands guided the shuttle to a gentle landing fifty meters from the other pod.

"Nice landing," commented Trip. "Real smooth."

"I know how you like it," replied his lover coyly.

"And I know how you like it." Without warning, Trip grabbed the pilot's seat and spun Malcolm around to face him. Then he straddled the lieutenant, pinning his arms to his sides and planting a hot, rough kiss on his unsuspecting lips. Reed reacted in kind, returning the kiss hungrily. It was Trip who finally broke the contact.

He released Malcolm and rose, taking a step back from where the dark-haired man still sat. He smiled. "See ya 'round," he said. Quickly, he released the shuttlepod hatch and leapt out.

Reed was on his feet and at the opening in time to see Tucker's retreating figure jogging toward the waiting pod. "Bastard!" he muttered through stunned laughter. Trip's actions had taken him completely by surprise, despite his own baiting of the engineer. "'See ya 'round,' indeed!" he said, mimicking Tucker's accent perfectly. 

He watched until he saw Trip enter the other pod, then he sealed the hatch on his own. He sat once more and hailed Tucker. "You left so quickly, I never got to thank you," he said.

"You can thank me back on _Enterprise_," replied Trip, satisfaction in his voice.

"You seem to think that by 'thank you' I mean something other than kicking your ass."

Trip's delighted laughter rang through the comm line, and Malcolm grinned. They'd been cooped up on _Enterprise_ too long. It felt good to be out and about, even though it was within the confines of a pair of shuttlepods.

"Hey, Malcolm," said Trip.

"Yes?"

"Race you."

"Race me? Where?"

A schematic of the mountain pass to their north appeared on his control console. "There," came Trip's reply. "Just up to that pass."

"Now why would I want to do that?" inquired the Brit.

"Hell, why wouldn't you? You don't really want to go straight back to the ship do you?"

"I can think of a reason or two to go, yes," replied Malcolm.

Trip laughed again. "Come on," he entreated. "Ship'll still be there. And a little fun down here might add to a little fun up there."

Reed considered the route Tucker had sent over. It wasn't terribly difficult, but there was certainly an element of danger to it. "Since when are you an adrenaline junkie?" he asked.

"Since you lit my fire, Lieutenant," Trip replied, intentionally thickening up his Southern drawl.

Now Malcolm laughed. "You're on. First one to the pass buys the drinks."

"Fair enough. Remember I like whiskey and soda."

"What? Not straight up Kentucky Bourbon this time?" quipped Reed. He was rewarded by more laughter from his partner.

Both men fired up their pods' thrusters and the little shuttles rose into the air. They aligned the ships side by side and, glancing out to port, Malcolm could just make out Trip's grinning face in the other pod.

"Counting down five seconds from my mark," the engineer said. "Mark."

Reed locked in the countdown, watched the seconds tick past on the chronometer. At zero, he laid on the thrusters. It was enough to give him a split-second head start.

The comm line was still open between the pods, but neither of them spoke, intent as they were on their common goal. Malcolm swerved suddenly to port to avoid a looming stone outcropping. Trip was right behind him.

Hoping to outthink the younger man, Reed took his pod into a steep and sudden ascent. He was pressed into his seat for a brief second before the inertial dampers could kick in and compensate. He leveled off and banked to starboard around the side of sharp mountain peak.

As he rounded the peak, he momentarily lost sight of Trip on sensors. When the engineer was once more in view, Reed had to do a double take before he could believe the reading. Tucker was directly beneath him. _How in the world did he get there so quickly?_ he wondered.

His thoughts were broken when he heard the comm chirp unexpectedly. Sub-commander T'Pol's voice came through the new line, and he suddenly remembered he and Trip weren't really alone. He immediately slowed his speed, noticing that Trip had done the same, and closed the secure channel between the two shuttlepods.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" T'Pol asked evenly.

It was Tucker who answered. "No problem, Sub-commander," he said, trying to sound as if he hadn't just been caught playing truant in a rather dangerous fashion.

"Then I recommend you both return to _Enterprise_ immediately," the Vulcan continued. "The storm front approaching you was twenty minutes away from the landing site. Now it is eight minutes away from your current location, and you are still headed directly towards it," she added pointedly.

"We'll be right there, Sub-commander," replied Tucker contritely. "Tucker out."

There was silence in both pods as the men altered course to head back to the ship. Eventually, Trip opened another secure line to Malcolm. "Whoops," was all he said.

Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, Malcolm laughed.

*****

Reed and Tucker walked slowly along the corridor outside the landing bay. Neither spoke. Both were waiting for the hammer to fall.

"Wonder why the captain hasn't ordered us to his ready room yet," puzzled Trip.

"Do you really want him to?" his partner asked.

"It'd mean the suspense would be over soon and we could get on with our lives."

"You have a point."

They continued their walk in silence until Malcolm said, "Are we actually going anywhere?"

Trip shrugged. "Not really."

"Then perhaps we should pick a destination. Neither of us won the race, but I know I could use a drink right about now."

Tucker took a deep breath and let it out. "Good idea," he said firmly. At the next cross corridor, they hung a left and headed toward the mess hall. "Maybe the Captain's not gonna call us."

"Why wouldn't he?" argued Reed reasonably. "We were being unprofessional, behaving in a way unbecoming of Starfleet officers, and taking unnecessary risks with two shuttlepods."

"We were having _fun_," countered Trip

"Yes." Now Malcolm smiled a little. "We were."

They reached the mess hall and were happy to find it nearly empty. It was fairly late, after all. They had been forced to wait several hours before they could reclaim the pod from the planet's surface.

Reed picked a pint glass and ordered a Guinness from the drinks dispenser. Tucker followed up with a tumbler and his own order for a double whiskey, neat. At Malcolm's inquisitive look he explained, "I don't feel like diluting it tonight."

They carried their beverages to a table in the farthest corner of the room and sat down. Eventually, the few other people in the mess hall departed, leaving them alone. Tucker sipped at his whiskey, wanting to make it last as long as possible. Malcolm was doing much the same thing with his beer, nursing it until the moment came when they would be called to task for what they'd done.

Half an hour passed this way, with neither man saying more than a dozen words. Finally, Trip looked across the table at Malcolm. "Do you think" he began, but stopped.

"What?" prompted Reed.

"Maybe T'Pol didn't tell him?"

This possibility had never occurred to the lieutenant. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Maybe the question should be, why _would_ she?" said Trip.

"What? Do I need to list the reasons I gave you before?"

"No. I just mean, there was no real harm done, right?" Trip was fishing and he knew it, but slim as the hope was he was going to hold onto it for all he was worth. "Everyone and everything came back intact. So, why would the Captain ever have to know?"

Reed considered this very carefully. "There is somelogic to what you're suggesting," he admitted slowly.

"It sure would explain why we haven't heard a peep from him since we got back."

"He could just be asleep," Malcolm pointed out. "Perhaps T'Pol is waiting to give him her report in the morning."

"If that's the case, we still have the rest of the night, right?"

A sly smile curved Malcolm's lips. "One last reprieve before the axe falls?"

"Something like that," agreed Trip, smiling back at his lover.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Trip shook his head. "I couldn't tell ya." He tossed back the last of his drink in one swallow.

The move excited Malcolm, and he shivered in anticipation. "Your place or mine?" he asked lasciviously.

"Mine," answered Trip. "If that's okay by you," he added, though he doubted his partner would have any objections. He was right.

"Then let's not waste any more time." Malcolm stood and waited for Trip to rise, too.

"Aren't you gonna finish that?" the blond asked, indicating the half-empty glass of beer.

"There are things in your quarters that are much more stimulating than alcohol. Shall we retire?" the Brit asked formally. He held out a hand to Trip, who took it and stood.

"After you."

Malcolm gave him a small nod and, releasing Trip's hand, began walking toward the mess hall door. Tucker took a moment to enjoy the view before following him. Suddenly he didn't care what repercussions the morning might bring, as long as the night was uninterrupted.

*****  
End Log 2:9  
_Completed 11 Dec 02_

Continued in Log 2:10


	10. Log 2:10

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:10**: (Takes place between _Vanishing Point_ and _Precious Cargo_.)  
_Rating PG-13_

*****

It had been ten days and still they waited for the other shoe to fall. Malcolm was one step short of full paranoia; Trip was on the verge of believing it would never happen.

"He hasn't said anything?" Reed asked the engineer over breakfast in the mess hall.

"Not a word," confirmed Tucker. "But I'm having dinner with him and T'Pol tonight."

"I don't envy you."

"Come on, Malcolm. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now. I'm willing to bet she never told him about it at all."

"That doesn't mean she won't eventually."

"Eventually," echoed Trip. "By the time eventually rolls around, it'll be so far in the past the Captain won't even care."

"Trip," Malcolm lowered his voice, "we could have destroyed two shuttlepods. And correct me if I'm wrong, but we don't have the materials aboard to build replacements."

"We could build one," countered the engineer. "Maybe."

"I think we should tell him."

"Are you serious?" But Trip could tell by his partner's expression that he was absolutely serious. "Why?"

"To get it over with. To come clean," insisted Malcolm. "It's the right thing to do."

"Says you. I think the right thing to do is to just chalk it up to good luck instead of bad, for once, and move on. You've got to let it go at some point, Malcolm. Stop worrying about it. There are better things to think about. Like Saturday." He smiled suggestively.

"You're not still seriously considering your birthday dinner plan, are you?" queried Reed, astonished.

"_Your_ birthday dinner, darlin', and you bet I am." Trip's blue eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief.

"But—" He stopped short, uncertain what to say. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that for the first time in years he was very much looking forward to celebrating his birthday, and it was entirely due to the handsome man sitting across from him.

"But nothing," declared Tucker with finality. "I've got the whole evening planned out. That's assuming you haven't changed your mind about going to the movie?"

"I haven't. I've never seen _Casablanca_, and I admit I'm intrigued by it."

"Even though there aren't any big explosions?" quipped Trip, who'd seen the film half a dozen times and still expected to cry over it and its incomparable leading lady.

Malcolm gave him a sardonic look. "If I disliked every movie that didn't have explosions, I would be severely limiting myself."

"And if you did like every movie that had explosions, we could've gone to see _Terminator 2_, and someone I know wouldn't have gotten his nose broken."

"It was worth it for your apology," answered Malcolm with a libidinous grin. He was rewarded with an equally salacious smile from his lover.

"That was a good night, wasn't it?" Trip sighed, remembering.

"It was." Malcolm sipped thoughtfully at his tea. "Were you planning anything similar for Saturday night by any chance?"

Trip smiled again. "I have a few things in mind. Something a little different that I think you'll like."

"Sounds intriguing."

Across the mess hall, Stephanie was silently savoring her latté and waiting for Mae. She glanced up at the sound of the door opening, but was disappointed when two communications crewmen entered. _Wonder where she is?_ she thought. _Wonder if I should hail her?_ It wasn't impossible that the engineer had overslept as Cormack, herself, had done in the not so distant past.

The door whooshed open again, and this time Mae entered with Bonnie in tow. Stephanie waved a weary hand in their direction and got a small wave back. The two women chose their breakfasts, ordered their morning beverages, and joined Cormack at the small, round table.

"Morning," said Mae.

"Hey," replied Stephanie eloquently. She mustered up a smile for the new arrivals, then looked at Lawless. "You didn't tell me we'd be three this morning."

"Should I go?" asked Fraser, who knew perfectly well Cormack hadn't meant to sound unwelcoming.

Realizing her brain was still functioning a little slowly, Cormack apologized. "No. Of course not. It's just that if I'd known you were coming, I'd've worked harder to be conscious when you got here."

"I don't rate consciousness from you?" teased Mae, taking a bite of cereal.

"Did you require consciousness from me?" asked Stephanie in return.

"Not really." Lawless shrugged amiably. "How'd your present-making go last night?"

"Better and better." Finally Cormack managed a real smile. "I've got the recipe all worked out, and Hoshi and I are going to work on getting the flavors just right tonight."

"Flavors?" asked Bonnie.

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to elaborate?"

"Uh-uh."

"Why not?" Mae wanted to know.

"It's not your birthday present," Stephanie said as if it explained everything.

As far as her companions were concerned, it didn't. "So?" they both said in unison, then laughed.

Even Stephanie chuckled. "Oh no, you're not bunkmates," she joked.

"Come on," pressed Lawless. "What is it?"

"No. Forget it." Cormack was adamant. "No one gets to know until Malcolm knows."

"Hoshi knows."

"Yeah. She kind of had to seeing as she's helping. But don't even think about leaning on her for the info," the blonde woman continued, realizing what her friend was likely planning. "She's sworn to secrecyin four languages."

"What if I offered to give you a hand?" said Fraser suddenly.

"What?"

"You said you're cooking again tonight. What if I helped? Then would I get to know?"

Cormack considered the helmsman carefully before continuing. While she didn't want to let out her secret, she was tempted by the thought of spending the evening with Bonnie. _And an extra pair of hands wouldn't hurt,_ her mind added in justification of her desires.

"Can you keep a secret?" Stephanie asked Bonnie abruptly. She couldn't help but notice the significant look that passed between the helmsman and her bunkmate at her query. "What?"

"Nothing," said Mae too innocently.

"I can keep a secret," Bonnie answered at the same moment.

Stephanie eyes them both suspiciously. "Now I'm curious." A thought occurred to her. "Does this have anything to do with when Lieutenant Reed locked you in the brig?" she asked Bonnie.

Lawless was about to say no when Fraser beat her to the punch.

"Yeah," she said.

The engineer looked at her in shock. "It _does_?"

Bonnie gave her a sidelong glance. "Sort of," she answered tightly.

Stephanie watched the exchange with growing fascination. "Tell! Tell!" she finally exclaimed.

Fraser made sure Lawless didn't intend to answer before she spoke. She needn't have worried; Mae was just as curious as Stephanie now.

"I was trying to get into the classified personnel files."

"Whose?" Cormack wanted to know.

Lawless already had a guess, knowing what she knew about Fraser's "secret." She kept her mouth shut and listened, wondering how Bonnie was going to get out of this.

"It doesn't matter," the helmsman said.

"Well, why then?" Stephanie tried another tactic.

"Really," Bonnie insisted, "it doesn't matter." The last thing she needed was for Stephanie to find out she was the focus of Bonnie's security breaching activities. "We were all obsessed with crazy shit right then. Unfortunately for me your boss was obsessed with new security protocols, and I was stupid enough to trip his alarms. Have you ever been stunned with one of those phase pistols? It _hurts_!"

"Oh my gods! He _stunned you_?" Cormack was amazed. She knew something of Malcolm's actions during their trip through the mind-bending radiation, but this little tidbit had gone unmentioned.

"Yeah," confirmed Fraser, happy to have shifted the conversation. "I don't expect it's something he's likely to mention outside of a report to the captain or something."

Cormack smirked now. "No, I don't suppose it is."

Lawless fought back a grin of her own. "You're plotting something, aren't you?"

"No. No, right now I'm just filing it away for later use. I'll plot something then."

"I'm so glad I'm not Lieutenant Reed."

"So?" asked Fraser.

"So?" echoed Cormack, confused.

"Can I help with the cooking tonight?"

"Oh!" The tactical ensign thought hard and came to an unexpected conclusion. "No." Fraser's face fell just enough to make Cormack immediately regret her choice. _No,_ she told herself firmly. _You'd get all caught up in testing the product, and you'd never get done._ "Sorry," she said aloud. "But once Malcolm's birthday is past, I'll share the leftovers."

Even without knowing what would be left over, Bonnie was delighted. "Excellent." She grinned.

*****

"Taste this," said Cormack, holding up a long-handled spoon. "Careful. It's still pretty warm."

Sato dipped a fingertip into the dark liquid and licked it thoughtfully. She shrugged. "I guess it's good. I'm not big on bitter-sweet."

"No?" The blonde ran a finger along the bowl of the spoon and then sucked the chocolate from it. "It's my favorite."

"But is it Malcolm's?"

"I don't know, sadly. I'm making an assumption based on his beer preference and my own tastes."

This made no sense to the comm officer. "What? Why?"

"He likes Guinness. I liked Guinness. I love very dark, bitter-sweet chocolate."

"Therefore, you're hoping he does, too," finished Hoshi.

"Yep. But we have others, just in case. Try the milk."

Hoshi took a small spoon and dipped it into the warm milk chocolate. She smiled as she pulled the spoon from her mouth. "Now that's good!"

"Good. Time to get the flavors right."

"What about texture? You know, once it's been spread?"

"Damn! Good point." Cormack set her long spoon across the pot of dark chocolate and looked around. "We need something fairly smooth and flexible."

"I know." Sato disappeared into a pantry and returned almost immediately with a thin sheet of baking pan liner. "Will this do?"

"Almost as good as the real thing," answered Cormack with a smile. _I _should_ have asked Bonnie to come,_ she thought briefly.

_No, you shouldn't,_ she told herself firmly. _We discussed this, and we made the right decisionfor now._ She ladled out a small amount of chocolate into a bowl then set it aside. "Where are the brushes?" she asked.

Hoshi glanced around and spotted them. "Here." She chose the widest of the group and held it suspended over the vat of dark chocolate. "Shall I?"

"Be my guest."

She dipped the tip of the brush into the warm liquid, then drew something on the baking sheet.

Cormack tilted her head to look at it. "Korean?" she asked.

"Very good."

"Thanks. What's it say?"

"It's the character for 'journey'."

It took Stephanie a moment before she made the connection. "Trip," she said, laughing.

Hoshi grinned mischievously. "Exactly."

"Very nice." She returned the grin before getting back to business. "I'll separate these pots into smaller batches, and we can start mixing in the flavors."

*****

Malcolm smoothed the front of his shirt for the nth time. He was dressed in the exact outfit he'd worn on his first date with Trip. _Even if he didn't know it was a date,_ he reminded himself, amused at the memory. Still, the symmetry pleased him, even if it would be lost on his lover. _Perhaps tonight I'll tell him Or perhaps not._ He allowed himself a small, wry smile.

He raised a hand to open the door to the captain's private dining room, but stopped himself suddenly. He still had reservations about this evening. The first and foremost was, of course, that he and Trip would be using the Captain's Mess without the captain present. It just didn't feel right to him.

_Not that I want the Captain to be here,_ he thought. _But it still feels like a breach of protocol—especially when we still don't know if T'Pol told him about our shuttlepod race._

But there was something deeper that caused him to hesitate, one hand hovering over the door's control. It had been many years since he'd had someone special with whom to celebrate his birthday, and that relationship had ended badly.

_Worse than badly._ Over ten years had passed, but he could still recall it as if it were yesterday. He remembered the oppressively silent flat, the motes of dust caught in the late-afternoon sun that poured callously through the window. He even remembered his absurd desire that it rain so the outside world would echo his inner misery. Oddly enough, it _had_ rained two days later—the day he'd left London to join Starfleet.

He took a deep breath, forcibly yanking himself from the unpleasant retrospection. _That was years ago,_ he told himself firmly. _And Trip isn'thim._ Even now he couldn't quite bring himself to mentally voice the name of the man who had hurt him so badly. Years of practice had taught him to bury the painful memory in the darkest corners of his mind. He did this now, shaking off the dour expression that had settled on his face. It was his birthday and he intended to enjoy it. He opened the door.

A white cloth adorned the table, which was set for two. There was a small vase with a red rose in it in the center, and a carafe of red wine and two large goblets at one end. The only thing missing was candlelight.

Trip stood by the window, regarding the stars, but he turned and smiled broadly at Malcolm's arrival. "Hey," he said in greeting and quickly rounded the table to embrace his lover. They kissed warmly. "Happy Birthday."

Malcolm smiled. "Thanks."

"Can I offer you a glass of wine?" asked Trip. He found it fun to play the host—something he wasn't overly practiced at but which he enjoyed immensely.

"Yes, please."

Tucker picked up a goblet and poured a good measure of the garnet-red liquid into it.

"What are we having?" asked Reed, taking the offered glass.

"Australian Shiraz," the blond man answered, pouring one for himself. "I don't know much about reds, but Chef said it's a good one."

Malcolm swirled the wine around in his glass, admiring the color and the bouquet. He detected the scents of oak and black cherry, and he thought there was even a hint of plum. He was no connoisseur, but he thought it smelled delicious. "It certainly is."

"A toast," declared Trip, raising his goblet. Malcolm followed suit and waited for his partner's toast. "To lots more birthday celebrations together." They clinked the glasses gently against one another and sipped the wine.

"That is lovely," said Malcolm, savoring the full, heady flavor.

"Are you hungry?"

"Very."

"Good." Trip opened the side door to the Captain's Mess, and a steward appeared carrying two covered plates. Tucker watched Reed a little nervously as the steward set the plates down and removed the covers before withdrawing silently. He had no idea if his lover would like what he'd asked Chef to prepare. He relaxed as a smile spread across Malcolm's face. "You like it?" he asked hopefully.

"It looks and smells wonderful. I haven't had traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in years."

"You're sure it's not toocliché?" It had been Trip's greatest concern. He'd found it a disturbing realization that, beyond pineapple, he didn't really know what his partner most enjoyed eating. So he'd made a guess and gone with a dish that was almost synonymous with English cooking.

"It's perfect," Malcolm assured him gently, and placed a tender kiss on the blond man's lips. "And I'm _starving_." He took the seat nearest him, and Trip moved back around the table and sat opposite him with his back to the star field passing outside the windows.

"Well we can't have you wasting away!" declared Trip jokingly. "Dig in!"

*****

Archer entered the mess hall. He was well aware of the curious glances he garnered as he collected cutlery, chose a plate of roasted lemon chicken and salad, and filled a glass with iced tea from the drinks dispenser. It was the first time he'd really dined with the crew. Considering his relatively casual command style, it was ironic that it had taken him nearly a year and a half to do so. That irony was not lost on the captain.

He noticed Doctor Phlox alone at a far table. _At least there's some dinner company I'm familiar with, and vice versa,_ thought Jon, heading in his direction.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "May I join you?"

"Captain!" exclaimed Phlox cheerily. "Please, have a seat! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I figured it was past time I did a little mealtime mingling," answered Archer as he sat. "And my own dining room is otherwise occupied this evening."

"Is it? By whom?" asked the doctor, curious. After all it was the Captain's Mess. If he wasn't using it, who was?

"It's Lieutenant Reed's birthday. I know I shouldn't play favorites, but when Trip said he wanted to plan a special dinner for him, I just couldn't bring myself to say no."

Phlox was mildly surprised. "Really? Well, that was very generous of you, Captain. Considering."

"Considering?" echoed Archer. He sliced off a bite of chicken and popped it into his mouth.

"Considering the event on that uninhabited planet the other week."

The captain washed his bite down with a swallow of iced tea. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Doctor."

"The shuttlepod race, of course," clarified the Denobulan as if everyone on the ship should know what he was talking about. Still, his dinner companion was at a loss.

"Shuttlepod race?" Archer asked.

"I assumed T'Pol had told you about it."

"I can't say as she did."

"Really? I'm surprised."

"Maybe you'd like to share what you know about this shuttlepod race," suggested Archer, trying to restrain his impatience.

"I only know what little I heard from Ensign Mayweather. I understand that when Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed went to collect the shuttlepod the commander and Ensign Sato had been forced to leave behind, they took the pair of pods for a bit of a race before returning to _Enterprise_."

"Excuse me?" Jon was flabbergasted. He'd not heard word one about the incident.

"Yes. Sub-commander T'Pol hailed them and recommended they return to the ship right away, as there was another storm moving in. From what Ensign Mayweather said, they returned immediately and that was the end of it." He regarded the captain closely. "Are you saying you didn't know?"

"No, I didn't. So," continued Jon just to be certain he had his facts straight, "two of my command staff went for a joy ride on an alien planet where at any moment they could have encountered a diamagnetic storm or, if memory serves, the side of a mountain?"

"I really thought the sub-commander had put it in her report." Phlox suddenly looked abashed as he realized what he'd just done. "I hope I haven't spoiled the gentlemen's evening."

"Oh, don't worry, Doctor," said Archer, although Phlox found his tone and expression more than a little worrying. "I won't be disturbing their evening at all."

Across the room, the mess hall door opened, and Cormack and Lawless entered. The pair headed straight for the food.

"I'm so hungry!" exclaimed Cormack. She studied her dinner options and settled on a plate of salmon, rice pilaf, and roasted vegetables.

"Didn't you get lunch?" her friend inquired, claiming a plate of ravioli with mushrooms and spinach in a creamy sauce. She inhaled it deeply and sighed happily. "Ah! Garlic."

"No, I didn't," Stephanie answered. She picked up a glass and placed it under the drinks dispenser. "Water, cold." She glanced over her shoulder at her dinner companion as the glass filled. "I was busy wrapping Malcolm's birthday prezzy." She claimed her glass of water and moved out of the way.

Lawless placed her own glass on the pad. "Cola, very cold. You're still not going to tell me what it is, are you."

"Nope."

"Come on. What's the big secret?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Fine." Lawless picked up her drink. "Let's find a place to sit." She scanned the room for an empty table and instead found her bunkmate. The helmsman was sitting alone reading a datapad with great intensity. "There's Bonnie," Mae said, nodding her head in her direction. "Let's join her."

Cormack was hesitant. "She looks busy."

"It's probably just a technical manual. Come on." Without waiting for an answer, the engineer headed towards the table where Fraser sat. 

"Mae!" Cormack called after her, then repeated more quietly but more intensely, "_Mae!_" Lawless didn't respond. Finally, not wanting to draw attention to herself, Stephanie reluctantly followed her.

The engineer heard her friend's protests and had no intention of listening to them. _When opportunity presents itself so conveniently it's stupid to ignore it,_ she thought with finality. She caught a glimpse of Cormack from the corner of her eye. _Good, you just keep coming._

Lawless reached Fraser's table. "Hey, lady!" she said heartily, startling Bonnie from her reading. Mae set down her dinner and took a seat.

"Hey, yourself!" Fraser all but slammed her datapad face down on the table. "What's up?"

"Mind if we join you?"

"Seeing as you already sat your ass down, I guess I'll say, 'Go ahead!'"

Cormack had caught up and was hovering to one side. She was fairly sure Fraser hadn't seen her there yet. She shifted her weight on her feet nervously. "We don't have to," she said, feeling oddly shy and awkward.

For the second time, Fraser started. "Hey!" she said again. She hadn't noticed the blonde woman approach.

"You're busy. We shouldn't've interrupted."

"No! It's okay!" she said a bit more loudly than absolutely necessary. "I was just" Bonnie picked up the datapad and quickly shut it off. "reading a letter from home." It wasn't true but since she tucked it into a pocket and zipped it in, the others had no way of knowing. "Have a seat."

"If you're sure"

"Sure I'm sure!"

Finally, Cormack sat. "Thanks."

Lawless watched the exchange with great hidden interest. Inside she was laughing. _It's as bad as high school. They are so hot for each other, but they can't see beyond their own attraction to know the other is attracted, too._

"So," Stephanie said. She was desperate to start a conversation; the silence felt too uncomfortable to her. _It's because you're hormonal and you're a coward,_ she told herself with disdain. "What's the news from home?"

Bonnie was momentarily stymied. She hadn't actually gotten a letter from home in a week. "Uhh" Her mind spun, frantically trying to remember something from the message. _The news from home?_ her mind echoed Stephanie's words. _How about I know all about your band days? And your band _nights_, too. I could tell you a thing or two about _them_._ The thought connected with another, and she all but cheered with relief. "My cousin's band finally signed a recording contract," she said at last.

"Really? That's cool! What kind of band is it?"

"You wouldn't have heard of them," answered the helmsman reticently. "They play some really weird stuff."

"But what?" put in Lawless. She knew of her bunkmate's cousin's group, but Bonnie had never shared more information on them than the fact they existed.

"It's a weird Celtic Inuit Punk thing." Fraser shook her head. "It's an acquired taste." Cormack and Lawless both looked at her wide-eyed. Fraser glanced back and forth between them, surprised and not a little concerned. "What?"

"Rowan's Circle?" said Stephanie when she could find her voice. "Your cousin's band is Rowan's Circle, isn't it?"

"How the hell did you know that?"

"I have their demo! My sister-in-law sent it to me."

"No way!"

"Totally!"

Now the women were grinning at one another, each for her own reasons happy to have found a safe common ground on which to connect. Again, Mae regarded them, laughing internally. _Oh yeah. I'm so right on this one,_ she thought with satisfaction.

*****

"Did you go through that entire box of tissues?" asked Malcolm, chuckling.

"Nah. Only about half of it," joked Trip, returning the box to its usual place on his nightstand. The two men were in Tucker's quarters, having just seen _Casablanca_. As usual, Trip had cried at the movie. "You know my track record with Ingrid Bergman," he added in his own defense.

"I do. It's a good thing she's centuries dead, or I might become jealous of your feelings for her."

Trip laced his fingers into the beltloops on either side of Malcolm's waistband and pulled the smaller man close. "You got nothing to worry about on that front, darlin'," he purred in his lover's ear.

A shiver ran through Malcolm at the feel of Trip's hot breath on his neck. "I'm glad to hear it," Malcolm murmured in reply, and wrapped his arms about his partner. "I've had a lovely evening."

Trip pressed warm kisses against Malcolm's cheek. "It ain't over yet."

"Ah, more good news." Malcolm closed his eyes, enjoying the softness of the younger man's lips on his skin. "You said the other morning you had something special in mind," he said softly.

"Yep. I did," affirmed Trip. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at him, curious but patient. "I thought agame might be fun. Something a little different."

"What sort of game?"

"Somerole-playing." At his lover's bemused expression, he added, "And I'm not talking the kind Travis and them get up to sometimes."

"I hope not," replied Reed teasingly.

"You check the door and the comm, and I'll getwhat I got."

Without a word, Malcolm made certain the cabin door was locked and their comms had a Do Not Disturb order on them. When he'd done that, he looked up from the computer console to see Trip, a lascivious grin on his face, standing by the bed where an odd assortment of clothing and other items were laid out. Malcolm was intrigued. "What's this?"

"You can pick. Do you want to be Rick, Victor Laszlo, or Captain Renault?"

A smile as wicked as his lover's spread across Malcolm's face. He didn't bother to wonder where Trip had gotten the costumes. Tucker was an engineer; he knew how the ship's resequencers worked. "That all depends," he began, crossing the room so he was standing a bare handbreadth from Trip. "Who do you want to be?"

Tucker had his own ideas about the game, but he wanted to be certain that Malcolm got whatever he desired. "Sure you don't want first pick?" he asked.

Reed nodded, looking deeply into Trip's pale blue eyes. "I'm sure. Who do _you_ want to be?" he repeated.

"I thought I could beCaptain Renault."

"Ah. And I could be either the daring fugitive you wish to apprehend or the clever adversary you wish to best—and with whom you go strolling off into the night."

Trip wasn't sure if it was the close proximity of his partner—although they had yet to touch since he'd gotten out the costumes—or if it was their discussion of possibilities for the remainder of the evening's entertainment that had him so turned on. He guessed it was a combination of the two. Whatever the cause, he could feel his growing erection pressing against the seam of his pants. He wondered if Malcolm was in a similar state. Unfortunately the armory officer was too close for Trip to be able to glance down and see, but not quite close enough for him to feel. It was almost maddening.

Tucker restrained his desire to reach out a hand and find out if Reed was as aroused by the situation as he was. _Don't rush it,_ he ordered himself. _Wait and play the game. You'll find out soon enough._

"I think," said Malcolm, breaking into his lover's lustful line of thought, "I'll be Rick." He adopted an American accent, although he didn't go so far as to attempt to impersonate Humphrey Bogart. "Owner of _Rick's Café Américain_—a hot spot for political intrigue and forbidden romance."

Trip grinned. "I hope you don't expect me to sound like I'm French. I want to seduce you, not make you laugh."

Malcolm returned his smile willingly, and answered in his own voice, "I like your accent just the way it is."

"Aw shucks," said the engineer, intentionally over-emphasizing his usual light twang. 

Reed chuckled and leaned against the blond man, running his hands down Trip's strong back as he pulled him against his body. His chuckle deepened as he felt his partner's hardness press against his own. He planted a long, slow kiss on Tucker's waiting lips. When he finally released him, Malcolm looked again into bright blue eyes. "Shall we dress?" he asked sweetly, then added with mischief in his voice, "so that we can undress?"

"Absolutely!" agreed Trip with such vehemence that both men laughed out loud.

*****

It was 0600. Commander Tucker was due on duty at 0700. It was reasonable to assume he was awake—not that Archer assumed this at all. In his estimation, it was a better bet that Trip would still be sound asleep, presumably with Malcolm as neither man had removed the DND command from his comm ident.

Archer considered carefully before opening a comm line. "Archer to Commander Tucker," he said with exaggerated cheerfulness. _He's going to hate me for this,_ he thought, smiling to himself. He waited a few seconds and repeated his hail. Finally, there was a reply.

"Tucker here," came Trip's voice. Clearly Jon's assumption had been right; Tucker sounded like he'd just been woken up. "Wha's up, Cap'n? There a problem?"

"No problem, Trip. There's just a new procedure I'm considering implementing, and I wanted to discuss it with you. I thought we could meet for breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Sure. Say in ten minutes?" Archer had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and blowing the gaff.

"Ten minutes?" echoed the engineer, flustered.

"Even better," continued Jon as if the idea had just occurred to him, "I'll swing by your cabin now and we can walk to breakfast together."

"Now?!" Near panic was evident in the younger man's voice, and Archer felt a pang of remorse at his actions. It passed quickly.

"Sure! I'll see you in a minute. Archer out." He closed the comm before Tucker could protest, and finally laughed out loud. He took a moment to calm himself before rising and exiting his ready room.

In Tucker's quarters, Trip and Malcolm were in an all-out panic. Tucker managed to grab a robe and toss it to his lover. "Put that on," he ordered. Reed didn't argue, pulling it on and wrapping it around his naked form.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, tying the belt on the robe.

"I don't know! Just help me get this stuff in the closet." Trip shoved a pile of 1940s era costuming into the small closet. "And if you find any underwear, put it on!"

"Trip—" Malcolm began, passing him a WWII era gendarme's uniform and a pair of handcuffs that were tangled up with a necktie.

But the blond was too absorbed with what he was doing to hear him. "The gunbelt!" he exclaimed suddenly. He frantically looked around, but it was Malcolm who located the item and tucked it into a nearby drawer.

"Trip—" he tried again.

"Go get dressed." Trip pressed Malcolm's civvies from the night before into his arms and pushed him towards the lav. He gave a silent thanks for his lover's innate tidiness; these at least were folded and easy to find in the chaotic aftermath of last night's lovemaking.

"Trip—!"

"Go!"

"All right," said Malcolm finally. He took a moment to slip out of the borrowed robe. "You might want this, though—unless you want Captain Archer to see you naked. Frankly, that's a pleasure I'd prefer you left for me alone." He handed it to Trip and disappeared into the lav.

For a split second, Tucker stood stunned. In his frenzy he'd forgotten he was, like Malcolm, completely nude. "Shit!" he exclaimed, pulling on the robe just as the door chimed. "Who is it?" he called, stalling for time.

"It's me, Trip," answered Archer through the door. It didn't seem worthwhile to bother with a comm line.

"Just a second, Captain!" Trip continued to snatch up the remnants of the previous evening and cram them into closet and drawers.

"Is there a problem, Trip?" asked Archer solicitously, still through the closed and locked door.

"No, sir." Tucker sounded unconvincing even to himself. He gave the room one last glance. It would have to do; he couldn't stall the captain any longer. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door. "Morning, Captain," he said, ushering his old friend in.

Archer entered the cabin, trying hard to maintain a neutral expression. "Everything all right, Commander?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't look like you're ready for breakfast," teased Jon lightly.

"You caught me a little off guard with your hail," admitted Trip reluctantly.

"I hope I didn'tinterrupt anything," the captain said apologetically. He surreptitiously bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as his old friend blushed scarlet to the roots of his blond hair.

"No! No, sir. I was asleep, is all. You woke me up."

"Ah! I see." He nodded knowingly and glanced around the cabin.

It was obvious to Trip that Archer was wondering where Malcolm was. After all, Jon knew it had been Malcolm's birthday yesterday; it made sense to assume the two officers would have spent the night together. There was no way Tucker was going to volunteer the information, however.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Captain?" asked Trip, hoping this would distract Archer from his visual perusal of the cabin.

"Hmm?" Jon would have feigned distraction, but he didn't need to. His roving eyes had caught something his mind wasn't immediately able to explain away. He forced himself to look Trip in the eye. "Oh! It can wait."

"But—?"

"You get dressed and meet me in my private dining room," suggested Archer. "We'll talk there."

"But—"

"Really. It's nothing urgent. I'm simply thinking of instituting a policy of random spot inspections, and I figured you'd have some opinions on the subject."

Tucker stared at him, stunned. Finally, his tongue rediscovered speech. "You What?"

"You know," continued Archer breezily, although he didn't know how much longer he could keep up the façade. "Malcolm's told me on more than one occasion that he feels discipline on board is a bit lax. I thought spot inspections might be a good way to keep everyone on his or her toes."

Still Tucker stared in disbelief. "Malcolm's told you?" The words were there, but forming a complete sentence was temporarily beyond his capabilities.

"Yes. Malcolm's told me. You can thank him for me when he comes out of the lav."

"Uhh" Again, all articulation was lost to the engineer.

"Or better yet, you can both join me in the Captain's Mess in ten minutes. We can discuss appropriate and inappropriate use of shuttlepods."

At last Tucker understood what was really going on, and this time he didn't even try to reply. He simply nodded mutely.

It was enough for Archer. He nodded once in return and turned to depart. He paused only briefly in the doorway to add, because he knew Trip was wondering it, "No. T'Pol didn't tell me. Ten minutes," he reiterated, and left.

Tucker locked the door behind him and leaned heavily against it. Reed emerged from the lav dressed in the clothes he'd worn the night before.

"I'll go get changed," the dark-haired man suggested awkwardly. Trip nodded, then froze, his eyes lighting on an object across the cabin. Malcolm noticed the sudden change in his expression and asked, concerned, "What is it?"

Without a word, Trip pushed away from the door and crossed the room. He picked up something from the floor just below the edge of the desk. There was no doubt in his mind that the captain had seen it there, too.

"What is it?" repeated Reed anxiously.

Tucker turned and held up what he'd found. It was a tan fedora.

Malcolm's eyes widened. "You don't think the captain?" he began.

"What do _you_ think?" answered Trip, finally putting together a coherent phrase.

"Bloody hell."

"You better go. Time's wasting, and neither of us is exactly dressed for duty."

"You're right." Malcolm spared a moment to give his lover a quick kiss. "See you in the Captain's Mess."

Trip nodded. "See you there."

Reed departed and made the short trip to his own cabin. He almost stumbled over the package at his door before he saw it. He absently picked it up and brought it in with him. He guessed it must be a birthday present, and he had a fair idea as to whom it was from. But what it contained could be anything. He set it on the bed.

As quickly as he could, he traded civilian gear for Starfleet, tossing his wrinkled clothes into the laundry chute. He brushed his teeth, ran an electric razor over his morning stubble, and did his best to tidy his short, brown hair. He wished he had time for a quick shower, but it was out of the question. _I hope neither Trip nor I run into Porthos today,_ he thought suddenly. Then a worse realization struck him. _T'Pol!_ She didn't have the sensitive nose of the beagle, but it was more than likely she would be able to detect the scent of sex on him and his lover. _Splendid. I hope that nasal numbing agent of hers is working properly._

Then he glanced at the chronometer. _Two minutes. Damn._ It was barely enough time to get to the Captain's Mess, and that was if luck and the turbolifts were with him. The mysterious package sitting patiently on his bunk would have to wait.

*****

Hoshi waited as her mug filled with steaming black tea. When the dispenser stopped, she picked up the mug and carried it with her plate of waffles to a table where Stephanie sat alone. "Morning," she said. "May I?" She indicated the empty chair with a nod of her head.

"Hi. Go ahead," answered Stephanie. She took a swallow of her latté, then stared into the depths of the coffee mug.

"Everything all right?" Sato asked, noticing her momentary distraction.

"I'm going to need another of these." Cormack looked across the table at the comm officer. "I got here early this morning so I could make sure to catch Malcolm before we went on duty."

"Right!" Hoshi dropped her voice to a conspiratorial level. "Did he like his present?"

"I don't know," answered Stephanie equally softly. "He hasn't turned up yet."

"Maybe he's sleeping in."

A subtle gleam in Sato's eye made Cormack chuckle. "I'd have thought that, too, but I know he has bridge duty this morning. He can't be sleeping in."

"Unless he overslept."

"You don't think he really did?" Cormack considered the possibility. "No. He's as fanatical about timeliness as he is about neatness. It must be something else."

*****

"That could've gone worse," said Trip as he and Malcolm left the captain's private dining room.

"Only if he'd been somewhere he could have reasonably thrown us off the ship," countered Malcolm.

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I?"

"The Captain'd never throw us off the ship."

"Maybe not directly into deep space"

"He was just making a point; he wasn't really mad. Not like when we got caught sneaking around that alien space station. _That_ was mad. Besides, I don't know what you're complaining about," Tucker said. They paused at the turbolift, and Reed pressed the call button. "You should feel better now that it's all out in the open. That's what you wanted, right?"

Malcolm sighed, knowing it was true. "I suppose so," he admitted. "At least now the other shoe has fallen, and we don't have to keep wondering if or when it will."

"Right. So cheer up." The lift arrived and the door slid open. Malcolm was about to step in when Trip stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Have a good day. I love you." The engineer kissed his partner sweetly, then released him. Tucker waved as the now smiling Malcolm entered the lift.

"I love you, too," Reed said just before the door slipped shut, separating him from his lover. He requested the bridge and continued to smile as the lift took him upward.

*****

Considering how it had begun, Reed's day really had gone surprisingly well. Not another word had been said about the illicit shuttlepod race; the captain had made his point at breakfast and seemed to have let the matter go.

_Trip was right,_ Reed thought as he handed his post off to Ensign Young for Beta shift. _I definitely feel better now that it's over._

He caught the turbolift and rode alone to his deck. He hadn't been back to his quarters since the morning, and he was looking forward to a little quiet solitude. He unlocked the door and went inside. There, waiting on his bunk exactly where he'd left it, was the package he'd found that morning. He'd forgotten all about it.

Remembering the determined and almost threatening certitude with which Ensign Cormack had picked up the challenge of his birthday, he locked the cabin door and approached the package cautiously. "What have you come up with?" he asked to the empty room.

He sat on the bunk and pulled the card from the top of the present.

_Malcolm—_ it read.  
_Paint a masterpiece.  
Happy Birthday!  
Stephanie_

"'Paint a masterpiece'?" he puzzled, thoroughly confused. "What on Earth is she on about?" His curiosity piqued, he unwrapped the package. His confusion didn't fade as he saw a set of six small, clear containers set in a tray. Each looked like it held about one hundred milliliters of thick liquid. Half a dozen paint brushes in a variety of sizes accompanied the containers. He picked up the first jar and read the label. "Bitter-sweet." And the next. "Bitter-sweet with pineapple." And the next. "Semi-sweet with pineapple." His confusion grew with each one. "Milk chocolate. Milk chocolate with pecan. Caramel with pecan." With all six containers out of the tray, he saw another card in the bottom. "This had better be an explanation," he muttered, picking it up. "I don't want to have to call her to come explain this in person."

He opened the second card, and his eyes widened. It was an instruction manual on the proper care and application of edible body paint. "Good lord." He started to laugh. He couldn't help it. It was a very thoughtful, if somewhat disturbing, gift. "Trip has got to make it up with Stephanie, or I'm never going to be able to use this!" His laughter welled at the absurdity of the situation. The present was obviously meant to be shared with his partner—why else would Stephanie have included the pecan flavorings? But until she and Trip were on better terms, Malcolm doubted the engineer would be overly inclined to make use of it simply because of its origin.

"Damn," he muttered as his laughter slowly abated. "As if I didn't already have enough motivation to get the two of them back on friendly terms." He sighed and opened the jar labeled 'Bitter-sweet with pineapple', and smelled it. Picking up a brush, he dipped it in and licked the small dollop of chocolate from it. He smiled and sighed heavily. "Those two had better make it up soon," he declared.

*****  
End Log 2:10  
_Completed 31 Dec 02_

Continued in Log 2:11


	11. Log 2:11

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:11**: (Takes place during and immediately following _Precious Cargo_ and _The Catwalk_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Reed was carrying out one of his least favorite and one of his most difficult duties. He was waiting.

He had delivered the prisoner, Plinn, to Captain Archer for questioning. Then he'd stood guard at the door.

Now he waited.

Several minutes later Sub-commander T'Pol arrived, looking like some sort of Vulcan Inquisitor, and joined Archer and the prisoner. 

Reed waited.

Trip had been abducted. _Enterprise_ couldn't find him. 

And Malcolm waited.

A childhood memory came to mind. It was a passage from a book he'd read, which had always stayed with him. The picture it painted was of a young girl sitting at a railway station and waiting with every ounce of her being. There was nothing else she could do in the situation, so she focused all her energy into the one thing she over which she had control, and she waited to the very best of her ability.

Malcolm wished he had that sort of focus now, but he couldn't even focus enough to remember the title of the book—only that he had borrowed it from his little sister, Madeline. It was all he could do not to fidget as he stood sentry outside the room where Archer and T'Pol interrogated the prisoner. His jaw ached from the fury with which he clenched it, and his hands itched with inaction. Trip was missing, and all he could do was stand there, waiting, while others tried to find him. It was maddening.

Reed snapped to attention as T'Pol suddenly emerged from the darkened mess hall that currently served as an interrogation room. The doors slipped shut behind her, and she looked at him.

"At ease, Lieutenant," she said with what Malcolm could have sworn was a hint of wry humor in her voice.

He relaxed marginally. "Have you and Captain Archer made any headway with the prisoner?" he asked her.

"Plinn became increasingly agitated during the 'tribunal'," she replied, "but I am doubtful as to whether it will lead to a satisfactory conclusion."

"I see." Reed tried to keep the concern and disappointment from his voice. T'Pol's unchanging expression gave no hint as to whether or not he had succeeded.

The mock-up "tribunal" had been his own idea, and the premise was simple. Captain Archer played the axiomatic "good cop" to T'Pol's counterpoint "bad cop." Plinn had no way of knowing how Starfleet or the Vulcans treated prisoners or what their interrogation methods entailed. There was no reason to assume he wouldn't believe Archer's threats. What not even Archer knew was that Reed was willing to follow through on those threats. _I hope it doesn't come to that,_ he thought. But he knew in his heart if that was what it took to find Trip, that was what he would do.

"Perhaps if I made an appearance" he offered. Malcolm knew what he was suggesting, and wondered if T'Pol recognized his deeper meaning, too.

The sub-commander regarded him, observing the increased tension in his stance and face. She doubted others aboard would have noticed the subtle changes but Lieutenant Reed, despite his propensity to shoot first and ask questions later, was more like a Vulcan than any other human she had encountered. It made him easier to work with and easier to read, in her opinion.

It was clear to her he had been under a great deal of stress since Commander Tucker had been abducted by Plinn's unscrupulous partner, Goff. It was equally clear to her what he was proposing.

"I doubt it would make a difference," she replied evenly.

"You don't think he'll give us the information?"

"I'm not certain he has the information we're seeking."

Malcolm had no reply. All his hopes were based on the belief that Plinn could give them the warp frequency for Goff's ship. If he genuinely didn't know it, their chances of tracking Goff and finding Trip were next to none.

The mess hall door whooshed open unexpectedly at that moment, taking both T'Pol and Reed by surprise.

"Lieutenant, escort Plinn back to the brig and then meet us on the bridge," Captain Archer said as he emerged.

"Yes, sir," replied the startled armory officer.

Archer met T'Pol's inquisitive gaze. "We've got a lead," he told her. "Let's go."

His words were music to Reed's ears. Either Plinn had given them what they wanted, or luck had smiled on them and the ship's sensors had detected the trail. At this point, the lieutenant didn't give a damn which it was. He entered the mess hall as the captain and T'Pol headed off to the bridge.

Reed gave Plinn a severe look. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" queried the terrified alien.

"Back to the brig."

Oddly, this seemed to bring Plinn a modicum of relief. He rose willingly and preceded Reed from the room.

*****

_Enterprise_ dropped out of warp. Goff's ship was nearby, somewhere in the solar system before them. They'd found him; now all they had to do was catch him.

Ensign Sato looked up from her console. "Captain, we're picking up a signal," she announced.

"What is it?" asked Archer immediately.

"The frequency matches the comm frequency of Goff's ship, but it's coming from one of the planets."

He looked toward Reed. "Any sign of Goff?"

The lieutenant quickly double-checked the ship's sensors before responding. "Yes, sir. His vessel is in geosychronous orbit over the equatorial region of the planet in question."

"Life signs?" Archer turned to T'Pol.

"None aboard the ship," she replied. She scanned the planet. Malcolm held his breath. "Three humanoid life signs detected."

"Travis," Archer said, turning forward to look at the helmsman, "bring us into orbit next to Goff's ship." He rose, glancing at his comm officer. "Hoshi, tell Shuttle Bay One we're on our way, then contact the armory and have someone meet us there with phase-pistols."

"Yes, sir," said Sato.

"Malcolm, T'Pol, you're with me." Archer headed to the turbolift, closely followed by the two officers.

*****

Less than two hours later, Reed returned to the bridge. Archer turned, looking over his shoulder at him. "Have you delivered the prisoners?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied. "I transferred custody to the Krios ship's head of security."

"Very good." 

Archer turned back to the main viewscreen, and Reed crossed the bridge and took his usual seat at Tactical. He quickly checked the status of the alien vessel with which _Enterprise_ was presently docked. Their systems were ready for departure, but apparently they were still waiting for one thing.

A hail came over the internal comm. "Tucker to Bridge."

"Go ahead," the captain replied.

"The First Monarch is aboard her ship, Captain. They should be ready to go any minute."  


"Understood." Archer turned to his comm officer. "Hoshi—" he began, but before he could tell her to hail the Krios battlecruiser, the alien ship hailed them.

Sato put the communiqué through to the main viewer. A dark-skinned alien woman in obviously military dress appeared. "Captain Archer," she said in greeting. "We are ready to depart."

A glance to Reed confirmed that the docking clamps were being disengaged as they spoke. Archer looked back to the Krios captain. "Whenever you're ready, Captain," he informed her.

"Your assistance in the recovery of the First Monarch will not be forgotten. All of Krios thanks you."

"We're glad we could be of assistance."

The alien captain nodded once and closed the comm line. The viewscreen once again showed the star field before them.

"Not much on small talk, is she," Archer muttered dryly.

"They're disengaging," Reed announced.

In moments, the Krios ship had moved away and gone to warp.

*****

Malcolm sat at the desk in his quarters, sipping a mug of Assam tea and reading an electronic copy of Rabindranath Tagore's _Fireflies_. He wasn't overly familiar with the poet, but in his search of the ship's database for something new to read, Tagore's name had caught his eye. He recognized it from a class at university years ago, but he'd never read any of his works before. Now he was sorry he'd waited so long.

He was pondering one piece in particular when the door chimed and then slid open. Trip stuck his head in and smiled. "Can I come in?" he asked.

"Always," answered Malcolm, setting down his tea and the datapad. He rose as Trip entered the cabin and the door slipped shut behind him.

"It's good to be home," said Trip, taking a step toward his lover.

But Malcolm didn't step into what he knew was the coming embrace. Instead, he turned away and moved to the small window. "It's good to have you back."

It was clear to the engineer something was up. He followed Malcolm a few paces, but stopped, not wanting to encroach on his partner's personal space. "What's the matter?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

"I'm a little curious," Malcolm began, still looking out the port, "as to the condition in which we found you and the First MonarchKaitaama, is it?" Reed saw Trip's reflection in the window nod in response. "At the time, I didn't really think about it. I was so happy to see you alive and in one piece, the fact that you were soaking wet and once again in your underwear didn't register until later." Finally, he turned to face his lover. He tried hard not to sound accusatory in any way. He didn't want to give Trip the impression he didn't trust him, but his own past experiences forced him to ask the question. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation, and I'd very much appreciate it if you could tell me what it is."

"We needed a decoy," said Trip immediately. "The homing beacon in the escape pod went off, and we figured it must be Goff tracking us. We stuffed my uniform with leaves and things so it would look like Kaitaama and I were both just sitting there at the campfire waiting to get caught."

"And you were?"

"Up in a tree in my underwear."

Slowly, quietly, Malcolm began to laugh. It started as a chuckle deep in his chest, then moved up and out into full-throated guffaws. Trip joined in, suddenly equally amused by the image he must have presented to the rescue party—knee-deep in the small jungle pond, wearing nothing but his bright blue Starfleet skivvies.

"I expect I looked pretty silly when you found us," the engineer said. He sat heavily on the foot of Malcolm's bunk, his laughter slowly abating.

"Exceptionally," agreed his partner. Malcolm sat at his desk again, his mirth also fading. He took a sip of tea and made a face. "Cold," he said in explanation. Then he continued, "So I presume you jumped Goff when he came within reach."

"Yeah, right into that damn pond. I hit him hard, and he still wouldn't fall." Tucker flexed his fingers painfully. "My hands still hurt. It was Kaitaama who finally knocked him out with a tree branch."

"She sounds like a resourceful individual."

"When she has to be," agreed Trip. "Once she got off her high horse, she was okay."

"Just okay?"

Something about the way Malcolm was sitting and fiddling absently with the handle of his mug made Trip pause. His posture sent up warning signals the engineer had learned not to ignore; something was definitely bothering him, and he was trying to hide it. Tucker fleetingly considered telling his lover about the kiss he and Kaitaama had shared, but he refrained. It had been a bizarre and brief interlude brought on by the desperation of their situation. It had only taken a moment for Trip and Kaitaama to recognize the absurdity of their actions, and both had been happy to pretend it never happened—particularly the First Monarch, who had initiated the contact. _It was nothing,_ Tucker reminded himself. _There's no reason to bring it up now. It'd only hurt Malcolm, and I'm not gonna do that._

Tucker shrugged. "Yeah. Okay," he said aloud. "She'll make a good leader, I think, if she can just remember not everyone's a servant. She was nice enough when she wasn't acting all royal and self-important, but I can think of someone else I'd much rather be stranded with." He smiled at Malcolm, indicating just whom he'd prefer.

Reed looked up at him and smiled back. It was a tentative smile, edged with relief, concern, and remembered fear. "When Goff kidnapped you" He paused, gathering his thoughts, and began again. "We took his partner, Plinn, into immediate custody, of course. When he wouldn't cooperate, the Captain and Sub-commander set up a 'tribunal'." Trip gave him a curious look. "There are some advantages to being a relatively unknown quantity in the galaxy. New species don't know how far we might be willing to go to get what we want. The idea of the tribunal was to scare Plinn into giving us the information we needed to track Goff's warp signature."

"Of course." Trip nodded. "Good idea."

"It was, and it worked." He chuckled darkly at the memory of it. "Captain Archer was playing 'good cop' to T'Pol's 'bad cop'. It's amazing what other races will believe about Vulcan discipline and punishment." He shook his head. "The thing is" he continued hesitantly, wondering if he should admit this even to Trip. "The thing is, I would have done anything to find you."

His tone carried an edge that made Trip sit up a little straighter and pay closer attention. "What do you mean?"

"All the threats the Captain made Of course I couldn't reach into Plinn's mind and take the information, as he suggested T'Pol could and would, but the rest of it" He trailed off, his implication clear. He looked at Tucker, waiting for his reaction. Would he be upset, disgusted that Malcolm was willing to resort to physical violence to get the information he needed? What would he say if he knew how afraid Malcolm had been that he would never find Trip? What would he say if he knew the level of anger that had swelled in Reed when Plinn wouldn't tell them what they wanted to know?

Tucker met Reed's guarded, steady gaze. "You'd've done thatfor me?" Malcolm nodded, his expression unchanged. Trip thought carefully before replying. At last, he said, "I'm glad you didn't have to."

Reed relaxed. There was no note of horror or disgust or judgement in the engineer's voice. Trip understood, and everything was all right. "So am I," he agreed softly.

*****

"What do we have today?" the captain asked his assembled senior bridge crew.

T'Pol called up a series of images and data gathered by the ship's long range sensors. "There is a binary system only 1.2 light-years off our current heading," she replied. "Sensors indicate there are five planets in the system—one appears to be Minshara class."

Archer clapped his hands together once and rubbed them like an excited child. "Excellent. What else?"

"Nothing."

The captain looked across the situation room console at the Vulcan. "Nothing?"

"Nothing in a closer vicinity," clarified T'Pol. "There is a brown dwarf system and a pair of neutron stars at the edge of our sensors."

"That's it?" He glanced around the rest of the group and got only shrugs and nods in return from his officers. "In that case" He looked to his helmsman. "Travis, when we're done here you can lay in a course for the binary system, warp three."

"Aye, sir."

"Does anyone else have anything to report?" Once again he looked at each person for a response.

"No, sir," said Sato.

"Tactical systems are functioning within normal parameters," answered Reed.

"Nothing, sir," replied Mayweather.

"No engineering problems were reported overnight," added T'Pol on behalf of Commander Tucker's Gamma shift engineering team; Trip himself was currently in Main Engineering.

There was a brief silence. "You're kidding," Archer said at last. He was met with oddly apologetic silence. He paused again, waiting for someone to tell him something was malfunctioning somewhere; it just couldn't be possible that there was nothing to report. Finally he had to accept the fact that his ship was running entirely without impediment. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," he declared at last. "Dismissed." As the meeting broke up and the officers returned to their stations, Archer added to T'Pol, "You have the bridge, Sub-commander. I'll be in my ready room ifif _anything_ happens."

"Understood," she replied with a nod.

*****

Barely thirty-six hours later, Archer was longing for the quiet of a smoothly running vessel.

The hail from a small alien craft had been serendipitous, to say the least. Without their warning _Enterprise_ wouldn't have seen the coming neutronic wave front until it was too late. The ship would have been lost with all hands. Now, however, they had a little time to prepare to protect themselves.

_Very little time,_ the captain thought morosely. Then he thrust the feeling aside. _We're not out of it yet,_ he told himself firmly. 

He picked up the datapad before him. It contained everything they knew about neutronic storms. There was a lot of information—more than enough to make him doubtful about _Enterprise_ and her crew's chances of safely riding one out. The heavier shielding of the nacelles would protect the crew—and the three alien refugees who had alerted them to the danger—from the radiolytic isotopes carried by the wave, but that meant flying by sensors alone. If he wasn't happy about it, he could only imagine what his helmsman was feeling right about now.

He set down the pad and opened a comm line to the team working to transfer the ship's vital systems to a make-shift bridge in one nacelle.

It was Tucker who responded. "Go ahead, Captain."

"How's it coming, Trip?"

"We're working as fast as we can. Travis and I should have the navigational arrays patched through in another fifteen minutes. We won't have any windows to look out, so I want to make real sure every sensor we've got is telling us what's out there once the wave front hits."

"Keep me apprised. Archer out." He closed the comm and sat back. He reached out to the desk in front of him and picked up the datapad once more. He shook his head, tossing the pad down and sighing in frustration. Time was running short, and nothing he read could make the situation better.

In the port nacelle, Tucker and Mayweather exchanged a glance. "He didn't sound too happy," commented the ensign.

"Can't really blame him," the engineer replied. "Hand me that hyperspanner, would ya?" Travis passed him the equipment in question. "Thanks. Only thing that'll make him happy is to get through the next week or so without anyone getting hurt."

Travis only nodded in reply, remembering the Class-three neutronic storm the _Horizon_ had been forced to weather when he was child. He didn't look forward to flying through the Class-five that was hot on _Enterprise_'s heels. 

Approaching footsteps along the metal grid of the catwalk announced a new arrival. Mayweather looked toward the newcomer. "Hey, Stephanie," he greeted her.

Tucker's shoulders stiffened at her name, but he didn't look up from the panel he was rewiring.

"Hey, Travis," she answered. She turned to Trip. "Commander?"

"Ensign?" was Trip's tight reply.

"I'm here to help get the tactical systems transferred over."

"Then you need to talk to Lieutenant Hess. She's over there." He pointed with a thumb off to his left. "Around that bank of consoles."

"Thank you." Cormack hesitated as if there was something more she wanted to say. In the end she simply walked away, rounding the bulkhead he'd indicated and disappearing from sight.

Travis watched the brief exchange curiously. He waited until he could hear the muffled voices of the two women discussing hull plating and command pathways. When he spoke it was softly, so as not to be over heard by them. "What was that about?"

"What about?" replied Trip. "I need a plasma torch."

Mayweather found one and traded it for the hyperspanner the commander had been using. "With Ensign Cormack."

Tucker paused in his work to look Travis in the eye. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ensign," he said evenly.

Something in his tone made Mayweather leery. He let the subject drop.

*****

"Hmm. Cozy," said Cormack, eyeing the bunks that were bracketed to the bulkhead on either side of the catwalk. She looked at Cutler. "You want the top or the bottom?"

"Top, if you don't mind," the exobiologist replied.

"That's fine by me." Cormack tossed her small duffel bag onto the lower bunk.

"Hello?" The greeting came from the other side of the curtain hanging at the foot of the bunks. It was immediately followed by Bonnie's smiling face. "Hey, neighbors."

"Hey, yourself," replied Stephanie, returning her smile.

"You guys all settled in?"

"As we'll ever be," answered Liz. "I'm really not looking forward a week of this."

"Better this than radiation poisoning," Bonnie pointed out.

"I suppose I can't argue with that sort of logic." Cutler smiled wanly. "Of course it also means a week without any real privacy"

"So a week without your man," Cormack completed for her, teasing. "I think you'll survive."

"Besides," added Bonnie, "girls are more fun." She grinned broadly. "And you can take that any way you like." She popped back behind the curtain, stifling a giggle. Her heart was racing, and she was felt a little bit giddy. She sat on the lower bunk and tried to calm down. _Come on, Fraser!_ she chided herself. _You're a natural flirt. No one's going to think twice about what you just said._ The thought bummed her out a little, and she no longer had to fight back her laughter.

_But I want her to,_ she thought, frustrated. She raised a hand and idly scratched the opposite eyebrow with her thumb.

_Forget it. You know it's hopeless, so stop wanting it so much._

The little voice in her head was logical, sensible, and absolutely not what she wanted to hear. _Shut up._

"Hey," said Mae. Fraser looked up as her bunkmate slipped through the railing and into their temporary billet. "You look like someone just kicked your dog," the engineer continued. "You okay?"

"Sure! Couldn't be better!" answered Bonnie too cheerfully. She shot her bunkmate a warning look and then gestured with her head toward the curtain separating them from their next door neighbors. Mae nodded in understanding and gave her friend a sympathetic smile. She tossed her duffel onto the upper bunk.

"I'm assuming you're okay on the bottom?" Lawless said to the seated helmsman.

Bonnie took a cleansing breath and answered in her usual suggestive fashion, "Well, I'm usually on top, but I suppose this'll do."

From beyond the curtain, they heard Cormack's reply. "I'm going to remember that." All four of the women laughed.

To the other side of Cormack and Cutler, a young, strawberry-blonde ensign couldn't help but overhear their chatter. She picked up the datapad on which she kept her private diary and turned it on. _Personal log: September 18, 2152,_ she entered. _It's going to be an interesting week_.

At that moment, Captain Archer's voice came over the comm. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.

"All hands, this is the captain. This catwalk is going to be our home for a while; a week, maybe more. You may not be comfortable, but you'll be alive. We've got the best crew in the fleet, and the sturdiest ship. I promise you we'll get through this."

It wasn't long before the ship began to shake. Rumbling like an avalanche assaulted their ears as they neared the leading edge of the neutronic storm. The young ensign looked at the woman who would be her bunkmate for the next week. Hoshi looked back at her, trying to give her an encouraging smile while quelling her own internal fears.

The shaking grew stronger, and again Captain Archer opened a comm. "All hands, brace for impact."

All along the catwalk people took hold of anything that was screwed down: bunks, railings, the grid flooring, ceiling beams—anything that was within reach and promised to stay put.

Thirty seconds felt like an hour as the ship was buffeted by the wave front. Hoshi was thrown forward and nearly fell from her bunk. Bonnie and Mae held onto the railing for dear life as they were tossed back and forth. Liz kept a death grip on the metal walkway beside her. Stephanie remained seated, hands firmly grasping the edge of her bunk. She closed her eyes, trying to relax into the wild pitching of the ship.

Finally, the turbulence ceased and a slightly stunned calm descended over _Enterprise_'s crew. There was a moment of silence before everyone moved at once, righting themselves and their belongings, and talking quietly.

"That was a hell of a ride," commented Cormack, trying to sound casual and failing. She released her hold on her bunk. Her fingers were white with the force of her grip, and she massaged the blood back into them.

Cutler looked at her dubiously. "Are you all right?" she said. Her bunkmate looked pale and, despite Cormack's attempts to hide it, Liz could see her hands were shaking.

"Sure. I'm good. It's justlast time I was on a ship that shook like that it collapsed around me, you know?"

Liz sat down next to her friend, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. "I didn't think of that," she admitted. "Are you going to be okay? We'll be in here for a while."

Stephanie snorted derisively. "I kind of have to be, don't I?" She took a calming breath and added more easily. "I'll be fine, thanks."

"You're sure?"

"Uh-huh. It's cool." She gave an ironic chuckle. "And here I used to love roller-coasters."

*****

"How many more days of this are we going to be subjected to?" muttered Reed. It was a rhetorical question, but Tucker answered it anyway.

"At least six."

"Thank you." The armory officer said nothing more. He was fairly certain anything he said right now would come out sounding unnecessarily snarky. He wasn't enjoying the confined quarters, the lack of privacy, or the motion sickness that kept sending his stomach into his throat. Coincident with that thought, a mild grav-shear pulled the ship unexpectedly to port. Malcolm couldn't hold back a groan at the unwelcome movement. He laid down on his side, one hand wrapped protectively around his belly.

Trip looked down at his lover where he lay curled up on his bunk. Malcolm's grey-green pallor was a stark contrast to his dark blue uniform. Tucker frowned in concern. "You don't look too good," he said gently.

"Thanks ever so," snapped Reed, barely above a whisper. He didn't care for their conversation to carry beyond the thin barrier of the curtains.

Trip let his snippy tone go; he knew it was the discomfort talking. "Why don't you go see Phlox?" he suggested. "I bet he could fix you right up."

"That would require standing and walking."

"I'll give you a hand."

"No." Slowly, Malcolm sat up on his own. "Thanks, but how would that look? You escorting me to sickbay."

"Everyone knows we're together," pointed out Trip, misunderstanding.

"That's not what I meant. I don't care to have it broadcast to the crew that I get motion sickness."

"You're entitled. You're only human, and a lot of people get motion sickness."

"Not the Reeds." He rose, one hand on Tucker's shoulder to steady himself. A wave of nausea hit him, and he took a deep breath to quell it.

"Sure they don't," said Tucker sarcastically. "Let me help you." He tried to put an arm around his partner, but Malcolm moved away from his touch.

"No. Thank you."

"Now you're just being stubborn."

"Yes. Excuse me." He moved past Tucker, who stepped out of his way, drawing the curtain open as he did so.

"See you for dinner?" the engineer said, a hint of sniping in his voice.

Reed paused at the railing. He glanced back at the engineer. "That was spiteful and unnecessary," he said tightly. He slipped between the rails and up onto the catwalk.

"Malcolm—" Trip tried to stop him, but Malcolm moved quickly away in the direction of Phlox's temporary sickbay. Tucker let the curtain fall and sighed angrily. _Smooth, Trip,_ he thought sarcastically. _Real smooth._

*****

_Stephanie stood alone on the sailboat. It bobbed lightly in the waters of English Bay, and she looked out over the boat's railing at the shoreline of Vancouver. It was twilight, and the lights of the city were coming on. It was beautiful. She sighed._

A warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she smiled.

"I love this city at night," her father said.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Stephanie. She shivered in a sudden breeze.

"You cold, Spitfire?"

"Nah." It was a lie; she just didn't want to move. She was afraid if she did, he would vanish.

The gentle bobbing of the boat grew. Stephanie gripped the rail more tightly as an unexpected swell heaved the small vessel up and dropped it down abruptly.

"Whew!" she said, laughing nervously. "That was like a flash-back to zero-G training."

Another swell surged, tossing the boat to one side

"Wha—?" Cormack woke just in time to keep herself from being thrown from her bunk. Others weren't so lucky. She heard a thud followed by a vehement curse. Cormack chuckled at the string of colorful invective coming from next door.

The ship's violent shaking diminished to a manageable level, so she climbed out of bed. Steadying herself as best she could, she poked her head around the dividing curtain to where the curses had emanated. There was Lawless, stifling her laughter from her perch in the upper bunk, and Fraser rising to her feet and rubbing her shoulder.

"You two okay?" Stephanie said, fighting back her own mirth.

"Yeah, thanks," said Fraser grudgingly. "Just feeling stupid now."

Lawless quelled her merriment long enough to say, "I bet you're glad you weren't on top that time."

"Oh yeah. You're funny," Bonnie replied, although she wasn't really angry. She was more annoyed with her rude awakening than she was with her bunkmate. She picked up the blanket that she'd pulled with her when she'd fallen, a mildly disgruntled expression on her face.

Stephanie couldn't help but giggle. "Good night." She waggled her fingers in good-bye, and slipped back behind the drape.

One section over, the strawberry-blonde ensign pulled her diary from under her pillow. _Personal log: September 20, 2152,_ she began. _Wondering about neighbors. All nice enough, but one has vocabulary like sailor._ She thought a little before continuing, then smiled. _Think I could learn a lot. She seems to have a knack, and I've never been good at it. Will listen more closely from now on._

*****

The smell of smoke was actually a welcome distraction. At first, Malcolm and Trip's mild sniping had merely amused their fellow poker-players, but it had grown spiteful. Neither Hoshi nor Travis cared to witness a full-blown lovers' spat.

Had Cormack known their thoughts, she would have agreed. She'd been trying to read, but the overheard snippets of conversation that reached her ears were too distracting to ignore. _It's just the stress of the situation talking,_ she assured herself, trying now to block out the noise of Commander Tucker attempting to remain polite while chewing out their guests.

"Are you aware you're sitting on top of a plasma manifold?!" she heard him exclaim. "You've got to turn that thing off!"

Curiosity drove her to rise and peek out around the curtain. She couldn't see much, but from the smell she guessed the aliens were having a barbecue. Their words confirmed it.

"We've had trouble digesting your food," one of the men said.

A hail came through from Archer to the commander at that moment, and was immediately followed by a wave of spatial turbulence. Cormack held tight to the catwalk's railing. She couldn't make out what anyone said next, but it wasn't long before Trip was heading toward the command area and Malcolm was carrying a large pan of something that looked like raw meat toward Chef's temporary galley. The look on his face was enough to make Stephanie's stomach turn in sympathy.

She slipped out onto the catwalk. "Lieutenant Reed?" He paused and looked back at her, clearly impatient to be off and rid of his burden.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"I'll take that for you," she offered. "I could do with a walk."

Reed paused only briefly before replying. "Thank you." He handed the pan off to her. "Just ask Chef if he could heat it up for ourguests. Tell him it's Commander Tucker's orders."

"Will do." She steeled herself to face the imposing Chef, clinging tightly to Malcolm's words. _Commander Tucker's orders,_ she repeated internally as she strode purposefully along the metal grating. _Let's hope he's past his 'kill the messenger' phase._

Malcolm watched her for a moment, thankful for her intervention. He fought back another surge of nausea. _I think a quick stop by Dr. Phlox is in order. Then I'll head up to the command area to see what's going on._

*****

Cormack stood with her pulse rifle ready. Below her was Ensign Young, also armed and waiting for the captain's next order. It was a bizarre way to conduct an interrogation, with Reed, Tucker, and T'Pol leaning over the catwalk railing and Archer facing down the three alien "refugees."

It turned out they were deserters from the Takret Militia—the very group whom Tucker had just discovered had boarded _Enterprise_ and were currently attempting to re-initialize the warp engines. It seemed clear they didn't know the crew were aboard. From what one of the deserters said, it was equally clear it wouldn't have mattered if they did.

An eddy from the storm rocked the ship, but Cormack braced herself and held onto her weapon securely. There were hostile aliens trying to hijack _Enterprise_; if it came down to a fire-fight, she was ready.

But the Captain had other ideas. Leaving the security team with the trio of deserters, he headed toward the command area with Reed, Tucker, and T'Pol in tow. Reed offered to take a team and collect more EV suits; the three they had weren't enough if they were going to attempt an attack on the invaders. Archer denied the request.

"Even if we could get the suits we only have twenty-two minutes in the radiation. Hard to believe we could re-take the ship in that am—" A mechanical groaning sound interrupted the captain's speech. The small group froze in its tracks. The yellow light of the coils surged on above their heads; the intruders had gotten the warp drive back online. Jon looked at Trip. "How long do we have?" he asked quietly.

"It'll take the warp coils a while to charge," the engineer said.

"How long?" reiterated Archer as they continued toward the command area.

"Twenty minutestops."

*****

Tucker sealed the helmet of Reed's EV suit. He wished he could go with him and T'Pol—or better yet go _instead_ of him and T'Pol—but it was out of the question. They had twenty-two minutes; after his earlier excursion to engineering when he'd first discovered the Takret troops, he had only a nine minute window open to him. He gave his partner a thumbs up, which Malcolm gamely returned before climbing down the access ladder from the catwalk into the main body of _Enterprise_. T'Pol followed him down.

Archer used on gloved finger to open the vox on his own suit. "Sorry, Trip," he said as he waited for the officers to descend.

"As long as they get the job done, there'll be nothing to be sorry about," Tucker said with as much sincerity as he could manage.

Jon gave him an encouraging smile before following the others. With a resigned sigh, Trip shut the access hatch behind them.

*****

"This is so not good," Cormack muttered through clenched teeth. She was on her bunk, sitting with her knees up and her back pressed firmly against the bulkhead. Cutler sat beside her. The pair held on tightly as the ship shook more and more vehemently. Sweat trickled down Stephanie's cheek, and she released her hold long enough to wipe it away with a sleeve.

"Hang in there," Liz said encouragingly. She bent forward and blotted her damp forehead on her bent knees.

"If they don't get those injectors offline again soon, we're gonna cook in here."

"I know."

Another wave of turbulence wrenched the ship just as Ensign Fraser was passing. She was thrown to one side and against a railing. "Shit!" she exclaimed, catching her breath from the impact.

"You okay?" asked Cormack, looking up at the helmsman.

"I'm gonna need a week in bed after this," Bonnie replied. She held the rail with one hand and massaged her bruised ribs with the other.

"I'll keep you company," quipped Cormack. She hadn't meant it like it sounded. In fact she was feeling too battered and shaken to even realize what she'd said.

Fraser, on the other hand, grabbed onto her words and held them. She laughed as casually as she could manage under the circumstances, trying to act as if she hadn't picked up the innuendo. 

The hum of the warp reactor slowed and ceased, the yellow lights above the catwalk going out with it. The drop in temperature was almost immediate. "That's better," said Cutler hopefully. Another grav-shear tossed the ship then, dampening her momentary optimism.

"Damn! Who's flying this bird, anyway?" asked Cormack half rhetorically.

"Travis," answered Fraser. She sat where she was, wrapping both arms firmly around a support rail. "I was just up there, but they didn't need me hanging over their shoulders and backseat driving."

"It feels like he's deliberately looking for turbulence."

"He is. We're heading towards a plasma eddy. Captain's orders." Cormack and Cutler stared at her, aghast. She felt obliged to explain. "They're trying to scare off the intruders."

"They're gonna scare off my lunch if this keeps up much longer."

At that moment, the turbulence eased then ended completely. Slowly, people began to stir throughout the compartment. Fraser rose, and Cutler and Cormack both stretched muscles that were tight with tension. Liz climbed off the bunk and fished in her duffel for a small towel. She wiped the residue of sweat from her face.

"Thank goodness that's over!" she said with a relieved sigh.

"We're hardly out of this storm yet," her bunkmate pointed out cynically.

"But we're through this particular ordeal, and for that I'm grateful."

"I'm with you there," agreed Fraser. She put a hand to her side again where she'd impacted the railing. "I think I'll go see the doc. Catch you two later."

"Like you could avoid it," joked Cormack, her sense of humor slowly returning.

"Like I'd try," Fraser replied. She gave a smile and was about to head off towards 'sickbay' when Archer's voice came over the comm.

"All hands, this is the captain. We've successfully disposed of the hostile force that had invaded _Enterprise_. With a little luck the rest of this trip will be smooth sailing. Archer out."

The three women exchanged relieved smiles. "That's good news," said Cutler.

In the next set of bunks over, Hoshi and her roommate couldn't agree more. Sato looked at the little red-head. "Sounds like we've had our crisis for the time being," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

"I hope so," the young woman agreed fervently. She climbed up onto her bunk and took out her diary. _September 21, 2152,_ she typed. _Crisis averted. Aliens gone._ She paused. What else had happened today that she wanted to note down? Then she remembered. _Think two of my neighbors are flirting with each other._

Up in the command area, the captain placed a congratulatory hand on Mayweather's shoulder. "Well done, Travis," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"And to all of you." He looked at T'Pol, Tucker, and Reed individually. "Good work."

There were subdued thank-yous from Malcolm and Trip; T'Pol nodded in recognition of the commendation.

Archer shifted the EV suit helmet he carried under his arm. "Whew!" he said lightly. "It's pretty pungent in here, isn't it?"

"Temperatures like we had'll do that to you," Trip commented, his face still flushed with the recent heat.

"Yes. If you'll excuse me," T'Pol said. She left the command area, intending to get out of her EV suit and then take an extra dose of her nasal numbing agent.

Archer chuckled amiably, correctly guessing the reason for her departure. He clapped a hand on Tucker's shoulder. "Too bad there wasn't time to build a shower, eh, Trip?"

The engineer pursed his lips as he shot a surreptitious glance at his lover. Malcolm gave him a pleasantly neutral look in return. Mayweather kept his eyes trained on the sensor readings before him.

"Yes, sir," Tucker finally managed to say.

*****

_Stephanie stood alone on the sailboat once again. It was exactly as it had been before. She looked out over the boat's railing at the Vancouver skyline. The lights of the city were coming on against the growing twilight. It was beautiful. She sighed._

A warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she smiled.

"I love this city at night," her father said.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Stephanie. She shivered in a sudden breeze.

"You cold, Spitfire?"

"Nah." It was a lie; she just didn't want to move. She was afraid if she did, he would vanish.

Her father knew it and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned her head on his strong shoulder, soaking in the warmth of him. They stood that way a long time, just staring at the cityscape as the sky darkened.

"I miss you, Daddy-o," Stephanie said, breaking the long silence.

"I miss you, too," he replied.

Stephanie felt someone else approach and glanced toward the newcomer. "Hey, Ryn!" she said, excited. "Look who's here."

Ryn tossed her long hair over one shoulder. She smiled, but her eyes were melancholy. "I know. That's why I came."

"Eh?" Stephanie tilted her head to one side, puzzled.

Her father stepped away from her and reached out a hand towards her sister. "Ready to go, Cookie?"

"No," Ryn replied, but she took his hand anyway.

"Wait!" exclaimed Stephanie. "What're you doing?" She turned pleading eyes on her father. "Dad, you can't!"

"You're too far away, Spitfire," he said gently but with a heavy finality in his voice.

"No!" She reached for them, but her hand passed through their clasped ones. "No!"

Cormack woke with her heart pounding in her ears. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Her dream was slipping away fast, but she didn't try to hang onto it. It was enough to know she felt sad and frightened all at once. She lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds around her. As best she could tell, the majority of the crew were asleep. _Good,_ she thought. _At least I didn't wake anyone else up._

There was a quiet rapping of knuckles on metal. Cormack sat up. "Hello?" she whispered.

Bonnie poked her head around the drape at Stephanie's feet. "Everything okay?" she asked softly. "I thought I heard something."

"Just me and my freaky dreams." There was a mix of annoyance and embarrassment in Cormack's voice.

"I'm sorry," apologized Fraser, thinking it was she who had irritated the blonde. "I'll leave you alone." She was about to close the drape once more when Cormack stopped her.

"No. It's okay. I'm just annoyed with myself." She looked at the helmsman, Bonnie's form blurred in the shadows. "Go for a walk?" Stephanie said impulsively. She didn't think she could sleep again right away, and she didn't want the helmsman to go, but neither did she want their chatting to disturb Liz or Mae.

Bonnie was surprised, but nodded. "Let me grab my clothes," she said softly.

Stephanie nodded, and Bonnie disappeared. She rose and pulled her uniform on over her blues. They'd all been wearing the same uniforms for nearly a week now; but most everyone had determined early on that this didn't mean they had to sleep in them.

As quietly as she could, Stephanie pulled back the cloth that separated her billet from the walkway and slipped between the rails up onto the metal grating. Bonnie joined her moments later.

"Aft?" the auburn-haired woman whispered.

Stephanie nodded, and the two padded barefoot to the far end of the nacelle, waving a silent hello to Phlox as they passed him and his medicinal menagerie.

The two sat down behind the latrines. "Amazing," murmured Stephanie. "It actually smells fresher here than anywhere else along the catwalk."

Bonnie chuckled. "I think Lieutenant Reed was onto something the other day when he was bitching about there not being a shower."

"Don't tell Commander Tucker that." She laughed softly, then grew serious. "He and his teams worked their asses off getting this place habitable."

"I know."

The pair fell silent and several minutes passed by as they sat there, content just to be in one another's company.

"What were you dreaming about?" Fraser asked eventually.

"I don't know. Something depressing."

"You don't remember?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Nope. I just know it didn't end well." A sudden shiver ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around her bent knees.

"We should've brought a blanket."

"I'm fine."

Another silence fell. Only the soft humming of the ship, an occasional chirp or squawk from one of Phlox's animals, and the inevitable ambient noise of eighty-plus sleeping people could be heard. They were quiet so long that Bonnie began to wonder if Stephanie hadn't fallen asleep. But then the blonde woman spoke.

"Sorry if I woke you up."

"I was awake already," Bonnie assured her. "Otherwise I'd never've heard you."

"Whatdid you hear, anyway?" asked Stephanie with some anxiety.

"Nothing intelligible—except at the end. I heard you say 'no' pretty vehemently."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." Bonnie thought hard, trying to remember anything else she might have overheard. There was nothing. "You don't remember anything?"

"Nope. Well" Stephanie paused, thinking. "I might've been on our sailboat. I remember it bobbing up and down on the water."

"Probably because that's what _Enterprise_ was doing right before you woke up."

"Was it?" She turned her head and looked at the helmsman.

Bonnie nodded. "Nothing big. Just a little jostling."

"Oh." Stephanie shivered again, pulled her knees closer.

"You are cold. Here." Bonnie scooted over closer to her so their sides were touching, then wrapped her arm around the smaller woman's shoulders. She rubbed her hand up and down Stephanie's arm, trying to warm her up.

"Thanks." A tremor shook the ship slightly and Stephanie tensed, instinctively leaning in closer to Bonnie. "Damn," she muttered.

"What's wrong?"

"Turbulence never used to bother me." 

It wasn't a direct answer, and Bonnie didn't press for one. She simply held the blonde closer, hoping her presence would help calm her fears.

Several minutes later, it appeared it had. Stephanie's head rested on Bonnie's shoulder, and the helmsman was fairly certain she was asleep. Bonnie was torn. She knew if Stephanie spent the rest of the night like that she'd wake up sore in the morning. On the other hand, the warmth and weight of the security officer sleeping against her was a very welcome feeling. Bonnie decided to let her rest for a little while before rousing her. 

She wondered again what the blonde woman had dreamed about. It had obviously upset her, even if she couldn't remember it in any detail. Bonnie tightened her hold around Stephanie's shoulders comfortingly. She smiled as the sleeping woman relaxed further and instinctively snuggled into the embrace.

Soft footsteps approached. Fraser looked up to see a puzzled Commander Tucker looking down at them.

"Everything all right, Ensign?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Bonnie replied in a whisper. "She wasn't sleeping well."

"And she's sleeping better here?" he joked mildly. "It doesn't look like the most comfortable place."

"No, sir. I was just thinking the same thing." She used her free hand to brush loose strands of hair from Stephanie's face. "Hey," she said softly. "Wake up."

"Mmm," was Stephanie's only reply.

Tucker gave a low chuckle. The scene reminded him of times Malcolm had tried to wake him when Trip really didn't want to be woken up. "You need a hand?"

"No, thanks." Bonnie shook Stephanie gently. "Come on. Time to go back to bed."

"Huh?" Stephanie's eyes fluttered reluctantly open to reveal Bonnie's face only centimeters away. "Oh. Sorry," she said, sitting up and rubbing both hands over her tired face. She looked up again, and this time saw Commander Tucker standing over them. "Commander." She stood quickly, tried futilely to smooth the wrinkles from her uniform. Bonnie rose beside her.

"You feeling all right, Ensign?" Tucker asked solicitously.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She turned to Bonnie and said less formally, "Thank you."

"Anytime," Fraser replied.

Cormack turned back to Tucker. "Good night, Commander," she said.

"Night," Trip replied as the women stepped past him. _Huh,_ he thought, shaking his head in mild puzzlement, _wonder what that was about?_ He let the thought go; it was none of his business, after all. He opened the door to the latrine and stepped inside the small space. _Tinier than any outhouse,_ he said to himself. _But at least it doesn't smell like one._

When he emerged a few moments later, Cormack and Fraser had disappeared from view. He made his slow, silent way back along the catwalk to his billet. He hesitated briefly at the drape next to his own, wondering if Malcolm was awake behind it. Then he shook his head moved on to his own compartment. He pulled the curtain aside just far enough to slip between it and the one hanging at a 90 degree angle to it. He unzipped his uniform, wondering how many more times he would be able to force himself back into it before he couldn't stand it anymore.

_Wish we'd had time to build a shower,_ he thought, echoing Jon and Malcolm's comments of earlier in the week. _Not that I'm ever gonna tell either of them that,_ he added. He folded the coveralls and set them on the floor below the bunk. _Malcolm'd be proud of me,_ he thought with irony.

A soft voice startled him from his thoughts. "Well done. Good to learn you actually know how to fold a piece of clothing."

Trip grinned and looked over at his lover, whose head was poking around the drape that separated their billets. "Sure I know how," he answered equally quietly. "I just don't always choose to."

Malcolm returned his impish grin with a wry smirk. "Somehow that makes it worse. What are you doing up?" he asked, shifting topic abruptly. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Just had to pee." Trip thought then of the two women whom he'd seen sitting so snugly at the aft of the catwalk.

"What is it?" asked Malcolm, noting Tucker's suddenly thoughtful expression.

"Do you know?" But he trailed off. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to tell Reed what he'd seen. He couldn't face the prospect of another argument about Ensign Cormack—particularly not in these close quarters with the potential for eighty witness to overhear. He shook his head dismissively. "Nothing." He stepped over to Malcolm and kissed him gently through the gap in the drapes. "Sweet dreams."

"I'm certain they will be," Malcolm replied with a smile. "Good night."

"G'night."

Reed closed the curtain, leaving Trip in relative solitude. He pulled back the blanket and fell heavily into bed. He was damn near worn out, and there were at least a couple of days left before they would able to emerge from their confinement.

He tried to make himself comfortable, but his body was missing the warm presence of his lover. The quick kiss they'd shared only heightened the feeling of emptiness. He sighed in quiet frustration. The armory officer was bunked down less than a meter away, but there would be no sharing his company—or his bed—until they were through the neutronic storm. _Damn. Was his birthday really only three weeks ago?_ It seemed like a lifetime. He remembered the night they'd had, and he smiled. Then he took a deep breath and shoved the memories back. _Don't go there, Trip,_ he told himself firmly. _There's nothing to be done about it, so just don't even go there._

He rolled over and faced the bulkhead, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

*****

Two days later, the haggard crew of _Enterprise_ emerged from the catwalk. The atmosphere was subdued. Trip headed first to his quarters to drop off his small bag of belongings, then went immediately to Main Engineering. As desperately as he wanted a shower, his primary order of business was to restart the warp engines. He'd worry about cleaning out the extra wiring and whatnot from the nacelle once _Enterprise_ was well away from Takret territory.

He checked internal sensors to be certain no one was left in the catwalk. Satisfied the area had been vacated, he brought the matter and the antimatter injectors online. The hum as the warp coils charged was a relief to every cell in his body; he just didn't feel right when his engine wasn't running. He heaved a heavy sigh and opened a comm line to the bridge.

"Go ahead," came the reply from Reed.

"Engines are warming up," Trip informed him. "I'm gonna run a quick diagnostic now, then when the warp coils are fully charged, I'll do a more in-depth check of the systems."

"Understood."

"Hey, are our guests gone yet?"

"They're leaving the launch bay now," the tactical officer informed him.

"All right. Tucker out."

On the bridge, Reed closed the comm. He sat back at the tactical station, watching the readings as the small alien vessel that had been sitting in their docking bay made its way back into open space.

"They've cleared the bay," Ensign Mayweather said from the helm.

"So I see."

The little ship hailed them, and Reed responded. "This is _Enterprise_."

"Thank you once more for your hospitality, _Enterprise_," said the leader of the trio, Tagrim.

"You're welcome," the lieutenant replied. "Good luck."

Tagrim simply nodded his final thanks and closed the line. The vessel went to warp and disappeared.

Malcolm looked over at Travis and asked wearily, "Tell me, Ensign. How did we end up stuck with the first bridge duty?"

"We drew the short straws," Mayweather replied without his usual vigor.

"Ah yes. The short straws."

Reed began running a diagnostic of the ship's power grid. It had been offline for over a week and while it seemed no worse for its idleness, he knew he would feel better once the systems had been thoroughly checked out. Mayweather was doing the same thing with helm control. It had only taken moments to transfer command functions back to the bridge.

"I never realized how comfortable this chair is," Travis commented. "Of course, anything is more comfortable than a storage canister—even with a cushion on it."

"Hmm."

They continued to work in silence. It was Reed who finally broke it. "Looks like the power grid is as good as ever," he said. He rose and crossed the bridge to the communications station, began a preliminary diagnostic of those systems as well.

"Warp engines are back online, Lieutenant," Mayweather announced.

"Excellent." He opened a comm. "Bridge to Captain Archer."

There was a pause before the captain responded. "Go ahead."

"Warp engines are online, sir. Your orders?"

"Stay on our current course and go to warp two. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Archer shut off the connection with one damp finger, then continued rubbing a large towel over Porthos. "There you go, pal," he said, rumpling the dog's ears fondly. Porthos barked once and shook himself vigorously. He gave Archer a sour look and padded out of the bathroom, plopping down sullenly on his pillow.

Archer rose and followed him to the doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the door frame. "Some thanks I get," he said to the dog. "I even let you have the first bath. And don't try to tell me you didn't need it." He tossed the damp towel at the beagle who just watched as it sailed over his head and landed in the far corner of the cabin. Jon chuckled at his own poor aim and returned to the bathroom. He stripped off his uniform and blues, chucking all of it into the laundry chute before stepping into the shower and hitting the jet.

He sighed happily as the hot water coursed over him, and reached for the shampoo. He wanted to stand there for the next hour, but he'd told Malcolm he'd be on the bridge in fifteen minutes. _Why did I say that?_ he asked himself, lathering the shampoo into his short brown hair. _Oh well. What's he going to do if I'm a couple of minutes late? Reprimand me?_ He chuckled as he rinsed away the suds. He picked up a loofah, squirted shower gel onto it, and began scrubbing eight days of sweat and general grime from his body.

*****

There was a line at the shower room. Cormack wasn't surprised, but that didn't make her any less annoyed at having to wait. The sound of running water taunted her from every stall. She sat heavily on the long bench that ran the length of the room and gave a wan smile of greeting to the two crewmen waiting ahead of her.

Behind them, the door opened and Lawless entered. "Cool," the engineer said, plopping down next to her friend.

"Cool?" echoed Cormack.

"This line's shorter than the one by my quarters."

"Oh."

They heard a single shower shut off, and it wasn't long before a crewman emerged from the cubicle in question. She politely held the door open for the next person in line. The man at the end of the bench rose.

"Thanks," he said as she handed the stall off to him.

"No problem," she replied as she departed.

The three on the bench slid down one spot. They didn't have long to wait before another shower opened up. The crewman in front of Cormack stood tiredly and entered the cubical, shutting its plexiglas door behind him.

"Just you and me now," Stephanie said, sliding down the bench once again.

Mae followed her. "Good," she said softly, suddenly adopting a secretive attitude.

"Huh?"

"What happened with you and Bonnie?"

Stephanie looked at the engineer blankly. "And again I'm forced to say, 'Huh?'"

"The other night," Mae said as if this clarified everything.

"Do I have to grunt at you a third time?"

"I woke up the other night, and she was gone. When she came back, I asked what was up."

"Ohhh!" said Stephanie, light finally dawning. "The night I had that dream, I bet."

"Yeah. She said you'd had some weird dream, and she kept you company for a while."

"Right." Cormack felt disinclined to tell her friend how she'd fallen asleep on Bonnie's shoulder. It was an especially good memory, and for now she wanted to keep it for herself.

There was a silence broken only by the sound of the showers running.

"That's it?" asked Mae, disappointed. She'd gotten no satisfaction from her bunkmate, and had sincerely hoped for more from Cormack.

"What did you expect?" countered Stephanie.

"I don't know. Something more exciting than that, I guess."

A shower shut off.

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Cormack sarcastically.

"I'm disappointed for you, not me."

"What?"

Mae realized her tactical error. _I must be more tired than I thought._ "Nothing."

The cubicle at the far end of the room opened up, and Ensign Young emerged wrapped in a bathrobe and toweling his short ginger-colored hair.

"It's all yours," he said amiably. "I think I saved you some hot water," he added jokingly.

"I hope so," quipped Cormack, rising and slinging her towel over her shoulder. She gave Mae a look before heading to the stall. "You and I are going to continue the little chat later."

"Sure," replied Lawless.

Stephanie eyed her dubiously. "Hmm." She wanted to know what Lawless was hiding, but she wasn't willing to give up her turn at the showers to find out right now. She closed the stall door, positive that her friend would be long gone before she ever emerged. _That's okay,_ she thought as she hung her robe on a hook and stripped out of her dirty clothes. _It's a finite ship. I'll find her eventually._

*****

Archer stepped onto the bridge only two minutes later than he'd said he would. Reed gave no indication that he'd noticed his slightly tardy arrival. "Report, Lieutenant," the captain said.

"Diagnostics are all coming up green so far," Reed informed him. "Preliminary checks of the comm system indicate we have a lot of delayed communications coming in."

"That's not surprising. We were out of contact for over a week, and I only had a little time to inform Starfleet of what was happening." He headed across the bridge. "I'll be drafting a report to them if I'm needed."

"Yes, sir."

Archer exited to his ready room.

"Hoshi and her team will have their work cut out for them sorting this lot," Reed remarked to Mayweather, watching as scores of messages downloaded from the nearest sub-space relay.

"Yeah, but I bet everyone will be glad to have some news from home," said Travis.

"I expect you're right." He paused as something on the communications console caught his eye. 

All the communiqués with an Urgent tag were automatically sorted by the computer into a file separate from the regular correspondence. Normally anything with those tags was addressed to Captain Archer and/or Sub-commander T'Pol, but one that had flashed past on the screen had another name on it.

"That's odd," he muttered. When the backlog of communications had completed its download, he called up the Urgent file and scanned the screen. There were only three entries: two for Captain Archer and one for Ensign Cormack.

"What's up, Lieutenant?" asked Travis, glancing over from the helm.

"An urgent communiqué for Ensign Cormack."

"Oh." Mayweather shrugged. "Well it _is_ late September. What do you want to bet it's a baseball update?" he joked.

Malcolm chuckled. "You're probably right. No doubt she'll be thrilled to find out what the Orcas have been up to, and we'll all get to hear about it for the next week at least," he quipped dryly. He entered a simple command to forward the three messages to their intended recipients, then returned to Tactical. He sat down wearily.

Travis glanced over at him. "Cheer up, Lieutenant. Only four hours until someone comes to relieve us."

"Splendid," was Malcolm's sardonic reply. "Four hours until I can shower and get a decent meal."

"It could be worse."

"Could it?"

"We could be with Liz helping Phlox return all his animals to their usual homes."

Reed considered, a repelled look crossing his face as he thought of the Edosian slugs, the Pyrithian bat, and the damned Regulan blood worms, as well as the rest of the doctor's menagerie. "I think you're right, Ensign. I'll take a nice quiet bridge shift over that lot any day."

Mayweather was emphatic in his agreement. "Yes, sir!"

*****  
End Log 2:11  
_Completed 10 Jan 03_

Continued in Log 2:12


	12. Log 2:12

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:12**: (Takes place immediately following _The Catwalk_ and _Log 2:11_.)  
_Rating – [R]_ for language

*****

"Ensign Cormack," snapped Reed sharply.

Stephanie's head jerked up and she looked at him, startled. "Yes, sir?"

"Glad to see you're actually awake. Now if you would start paying attention, I might not have to repeat myself quite so often."

"Sorry, sir." Cormack tried hard to focus on the lieutenant's words, but she was having trouble concentrating. _Listen!_ she ordered herself angrily. Reed was talking about inventory. Ensign Young was to take a team and continue yesterday's project—inventory and maintenance of all the weapons lockers. Lieutenant Reed wanted to be absolutely sure the Takret Militia hadn't damaged anything or gotten away with anything that didn't belong to them. Meanwhile, the lieutenant, Cormack, and Martinez would follow up yesterday's diagnostics on the ship's heavier artillery and defensive systems with firing tests and combat simulations.

"That is assuming you can stay with us long enough to do the job," Reed said pointedly to Cormack.

She stood straighter and looked him in the eye. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Are there any questions?" There were none. "Dismissed."

Ensign Young and two crewmen collected datapads and a maintenance kit and left the armory.

Reed turned to Martinez. "Lock down the torpedo tubes. I know they're empty, but I'm not taking any chances."

"Yes, sir," she replied and began the lockdown.

"Ensign," he continued to Cormack, "take all the weapon systems off-line and put them in simulation mode."

"Yes, sir." She moved to the armory's main computer console and began methodically changing each weapon relay from active to simulation mode.

Reed hailed the bridge. "Captain, you asked to be informed when I took the ship's offensive systems off-line."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Archer replied over the comm connection. "Do you have an estimate on how long they'll be down?"

"I'm afraid it will take the better part of the day, sir. I'll alert you as soon as the work is done."

"All right. Archer out."

"Are you about finished?" Reed asked, turning to Cormack.

Stephanie looked away from the console distractedly. "Yes, sir. Just finishing up now." She'd been working quickly, trying to make up for her earlier inattentiveness.

"Good." He looked over at Martinez, judging her progress as well. The crewman finished locking down the starboard torpedo tube and moved to the aft one. When that was done, she gave her C.O. a nod.

Now the simulations began. Cormack found it a fairly dull process on the best of days, and she was not having the best of days. A part of her kept saying she should be glad to have something so mundane to focus on, but it was difficult. She hadn't slept well the last two nights. Her mind wandered repeatedly, and she had to force herself to keep her eyes on the panel before her. She wished for another cup of coffee.

Reed typed in a code for a pre-programmed simulation to test the torpedoes' targeting scanners. It would allow them to assess the system's current state and compare it to earlier results of the same program. This one used only the port forward torpedo.

"Run the simulation, Ensign," he said.

It took Cormack a second to register his words and move her hands to comply. The firing sequence ran. The data it produced immediately recorded in the ship's computer and displayed on the screen. Reed called up the results of the control test against which he compared the new results. He nodded in approval.

"It's a good start," he said with satisfaction. "Let's run it again, and rotate the targeting axis by point-three microns."

"Point-three microns," echoed Cormack for her own benefit more than to assure her C.O. she'd heard the order. She input the command and re-ran the simulation. It came up a near-perfect match.

"Rotate another point-zero-five microns."

"Point-zero-five, aye."

This time it was a perfect match.

"Once more for good measure," Reed said. 

Once more brought the same results, and the lieutenant smiled. "Excellent."

It went like that for some time. Testing each torpedo's targeting scanners, launch command pathways, every niggling little thing that might have been disrupted by either the Takret Militia or the neutronic storm _Enterprise_ had weathered. When those were done, the trio moved on to the phase canons and, in the same methodical manner, began testing each one's systems individually.

"All right. We're moving aft again," Lieutenant Reed announced. The aft phase cannon was the last to check. Then the team could break for a quick lunch before returning to run multi-weapon and combat simulations. "Let's run sim APC-020."

"APC-020," echoed Cormack once more.

Reed glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her responses all morning had sounded almost mechanical, and he wondered briefly at the reason. _She was rather quiet yesterday as well,_ he thought. There were all sorts of reasons she might be quieter than normal. It could be she'd slept poorly, or hadn't gotten enough coffee that morning; or it could be because he'd reprimanded her earlier. He gave a mental shrug. Possibly it was all three. The rebuke had been a mild one, and it had been deserved. He reckoned she was simply trying not to step out of line again.

In truth, Cormack barely remembered the brief exchange. It seemed irrelevant, and she'd dismissed it from her thoughts. She called up program APC-020 and input the command to run it.

A warning light flared on the secondary control console Martinez was monitoring. "Lieutenant, I'm reading an active circuit in the arming mechanism," she announced immediately.

"I see it!" exclaimed Reed in surprise. He immediately punched in the override code to cancel what was supposed to have been a simulated firing sequence. 

At the same moment, there was a hail from the bridge. "Archer to Lieutenant Reed," came the captain's urgent call. "What's going on?"

Reed opened the comm line. "Everything's under control, sir." His hands skipped over the panel before him, tracking down the errant circuit. He found it quickly and shut it down, his eyes widening when he realized the implications of the error.

"What happened? I thought all weapons were supposed to be offline."

"Amiscommunication, Captain. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."

The line chirped closed.

Slowly, Reed turned to look at Cormack. His expression spoke volumes; his anger obviously held in check by sheer will. Cormack looked back at him, her face blank. At the secondary control panel across the room crewman Martinez desperately wished she could escape the scene she was certain was about to come.

"What happened?" Reed demanded in a terrifyingly calm voice.

"I must have missed one," Cormack replied flatly.

He stared at her, stunned. She appeared unconcerned at her transgression. "You must have missed one?" he echoed in astonishment. "The power-up was live, but the firing control wasn't. You do understand what that means, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Reed exploded. "Do you have any idea the danger your negligence put this ship in? If that phase cannon had reached firing point, _Enterprise_ would have one hell of a hole in her right now. And the three of us, and a lot of others, would be quite, quite dead. "

Cormack continued to return his angry look with her own impassive one. She knew she was in trouble. She knew she'd screwed up. She couldn't find it in herself to care. The lieutenant's words came to her as if he were speaking from the far end of a long, narrow hallway; by the time they reached her, they were devoid of feeling or meaning. He was talking about failed safety protocols, back-blasts, containment breaches, all sorts of devastation. None of it reached her.

Her bland silence only made Reed angrier. "We would have been witness to one hell of an explosion. Sadly, none of us would have lived to tell anyone about it!"

Finally, something in his words reached Cormack's numbed brain. "Exexplosion?" she asked quietly.

"That is the usual outcome, yes," he snapped. The stricken look on her face should have been a clue, but he put it down to her finally understanding the consequences of her mistake. "You're relieved of duty until I tell you otherwise. We'll discuss this tonight." He'd moved from hot anger back to quiet fury. Even across the room Martinez could feel the change in his manner. She didn't look forward to being stuck here with him alone for the rest of her shift.

Cormack didn't move.

"Ensign!" Reed snapped.

The blond woman's eyes widened minutely and she stiffened almost imperceptibly. She swallowed hard, gave one sharp nod, and left the armory.

Reed took a moment to collect himself. A little voice in his head told him there was something he was missing, that Cormack's behavior was rooted in something he should know. He ignored the voice. She was a friend, but she was under his command, and her actions had endangered _Enterprise_ and her crew. She could stew in her quarters and think about what she'd done. Right now he had a job to do.

"Crewman," he said, glancing back at the worried Martinez. "Double check that _all_ weapons systems are running in simulation mode this time. I don't want any more surprises."

*****

Cormack walked stiffly to her quarters. She felt she was watching herself from outside, not really a part of what her body was doing. She entered the empty cabin and stopped.

_I can't be here,_ she thought. Like a trapped animal, she looked around the small space. _I can't._

It was nearly lunchtime. She considered going and getting something to eat, but decided against it. The prospect of facing her friends and telling them what had happened was too dismal to consider. Instead, she'd wait until the bulk of Alpha shift were back at their posts. But what could she do in the meantime?

Stephanie sat down at the computer and began searching through the ship's movie database. Surely there was something mindless in there that she could watch. Something stupid and funny, but good enough to hold her attention for a little while. Her eyes found a title she remembered Mae recommending once. It was one of the engineer's beloved B-movies, and it was just what she was looking for. Cormack called it up. She moved to her bunk, shoving the desk chair aside as she went so she had a clear view of the monitor. It wasn't a large screen, so she laid down on her stomach with her head at the foot of her bed, tucked a pillow under her arms for a little support, and settled in to watch _Earth Girls are Easy_.

A little over an hour and a half later, she was still there. The end credits rolled as she slowly sat up. Her back and shoulders ached from not moving for so long, but she didn't care. She checked the time. _Good,_ she thought. She'd stalled just long enough that the mess hall should be about empty. She could grab something and get back to her quarters and only meet a minimum of people.

_Or I could do yoga first, then eat something,_ her mind suggested. Her brain was coming back to reality, the distraction of the film only lasting as long as the film itself. _Yoga. That's a good idea._ She opened her locker, quickly changed into workout gear, and grabbed her mat. If she was lucky, the calm she usually found in yoga would help her focus and forget.

She met no one on her way to the gym and was pleased to find the place empty when she arrived. Cormack unrolled her mat and began.

It took less than twenty minutes for her to realize it was a lost cause. All the sun salutations and balance poses in the world weren't going to give her what she needed. The quiet internal reflection brought by the repetition of the postures only intensified the thoughts she didn't want to face. She cursed softly, dropping unceremoniously out of the asana she held. She rolled up the mat and returned with it to her cabin.

"Damn," she muttered to herself. "Damn, damn, _damn_!" She shoved the mat into her locker and slammed the door on it violently, taking a brief flash of comfort in the noise it produced. She sat abruptly on the corner of her bunk, then stood just as abruptly only seconds later.

"I can't be here," she said aloud. She was antsy. She needed to do something. She couldn't go back to the armory. Lieutenant Reed had made it quite clear she wouldn't be welcome there.

"Mess hall." All of a sudden Stephanie realized how hungry she was. She'd had nothing, not even a glass of water, since her usual latté and a small muffin at breakfast. "Food's a good idea," she muttered to herself. "Food and something to drink."

A craving rose in her and she froze where she stood. 

"No," she said firmly. She grabbed a pair of sneakers and sat again, pulling them on. "Food. You're hungry. Go eat something."

She left the cabin and headed for the mess hall.

It was late afternoon and the mess hall was blessedly empty. Stephanie scanned what was left in the way of food options, settling on a turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce. She took the plate to a table and sat. "Drink," she remembered. "Can't ever do anything in one trip, can you?" she chided herself.

She rose and went to the cabinet where the mugs and glasses were stored. She picked a tumbler and put it under the drinks dispenser, then just started at it in silence for several moments. Stephanie wanted to say, "Water." That was all, one word—water. But somehow it wouldn't come out. It was as if she was no longer in control, as if she was floating just a bit outside herself.

When she finally spoke, the words came from somewhere far away. She listened, knowing it was her voice but unable to control it.

"Vodka, straight up, very cold."

The machine blinked at her, requesting her alcohol ration code. It was an opportunity to stop, but it was as if her hand belonged to a stranger. She watched as it reached out and typed in the code.

The clear, chill liquid poured into the glass. Stephanie stared as if hypnotized.

She continued to watch as her hand reached out and picked up the tumbler. She examined it, a mildly curious expression on her face. The glass against her fingers was cold and smooth, with beads of condensation already forming on the surface. No scent rose from its contents. She had the passing thought that whoever had programmed the drinks dispenser knew his booze.

The door next to her slid open, and she glanced at the new arrival. "Hello, Commander," she said blandly.

"Ensign," replied Tucker, surprised to see her there and out of uniform. "Aren't you supposed to be on duty?"

She shook her head slightly. "No, sir."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Tucker was puzzled, but shrugged off the feeling. He didn't generally check Malcolm's crew assignments beyond looking to see when his lover was or wasn't working. Apparently this was Cormack's day off. When she continued to stand there, unmoving, he spoke up again. "Excuse me," he said, indicating the tray of clean glasses behind her.

"Sorry." She stepped aside, allowing him access to the glasses and the drinks dispenser.

He found a mug and placed it on the pad. "Black coffee. Hot," he ordered. Obediently, the machine dispensed the dark liquid. The scent rose to Cormack's nostrils and she inhaled it appreciatively, the ghost of a smile crossing her lips.

Her behavior struck Trip as even odder than usual. She was never comfortable around him due to his own projected discomfort whenever in her presence, but this was something completely different. He wondered if it had anything to do with the night on the catwalk when he'd found her and Ensign Fraser huddled together behind the latrines. "Everything all right, Ensign?" he asked her, as he had asked Fraser then.

"Fine, sir. Thank you." 

Her vacant look and innocuous smile should have been a warning, but Tucker couldn't see it; he'd never made a study of her facial expressions. "All right," he replied, taking her at her word. "See you 'round." He claimed his mug of coffee and departed, happy to be rid of her company.

Left alone once more, Stephanie sat at the table she'd chosen. She shoved the plate with her sandwich to one side, then set her drink in its place. For some time she simply contemplated it. It was crystal clear, almost pristine in its appearance. She picked it up again, the condensation leaving a wet ring on the tabletop. Cormack held the glass up to the light, turning it this way and that. She was very close to dumping it down the recycler. Instead, she put it to her lips, opened her throat wide, and downed the liquor in one swallow.

The burning sensation was more intense than she remembered. She was out of practice. Then the wave of heat and pain faded to an old, familiar warmth, and she sighed.

*****

It was dinnertime, and the mess hall was hopping. Lawless and Cutler shared a table, waiting for Cormack and Fraser to join them. It wasn't long before the helmsman appeared. Fraser selected a bowl of soup with a thick slice of dark bread, got a glass of water, and joined the other women.

"Hey," she said, sitting. "Where's Stephanie?"

"Late," answered Mae easily.

"Oh." Fraser tore off a bit of bread and dipped it in her soup.

The trio chatted lazily about their days, but as time progressed each began to wonder where their missing companion had got to.

"Maybe there's a project in the armory that she can't leave?" suggested Cutler eventually.

"Maybe," agreed Lawless, "but she usually lets someone know when that happens. It's not like her to just not show up."

"Was she in your cabin?" asked Fraser.

Liz shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't been back there since I went on duty this morning."

"There's Lieutenant Reed." Mae nodded to where the armory officer had just entered with Commander Tucker. "So it's probably not work that's keeping her."

"Maybe not. Or maybe she did something to piss him off and she's stuck doing some tedious crap job again," suggested Bonnie. "It's happened before."

"True."

"And the lieutenant doesn't look like he's in the best mood," added Liz.

"He always looks like that."

"No he doesn't," Liz protested. She took a bite of her supper before continuing. "We could ask him where she is."

"I'm not doing it," declared Bonnie with finality.

"Me, either," agreed Mae. "Even if he's in a good mood, I'm not about to interrupt him and Commander Tucker while they're having dinner."

"Chickens," accused Cutler lightly, but she had to admit they had a point. She watched surreptitiously as the men chose their meals and found a seat in another part of the mess hall.

"How's your day?" Trip asked his partner, spreading butter on his bread. "Weapons check out okay?"

"Yes. Everything seems to be perfectly fine. We've run more tests than I care to remember, and it all looks good."

"I heard somethinghappened this morning. With the phase cannons." Tucker only knew what Archer had told him at lunch—that the aft phase cannon had activated briefly before being quickly shut down.

Malcolm's expression darkened. "Yes," was all he said.

It was clear to the engineer he didn't want to discuss it. That didn't stop Trip asking. "So?"

"So what?"

"What happened?"

"Ensign Cormack failed to fully disable the aft phase cannon's power-up command before we began running our firing simulations," he explained flatly.

Trip whistled. "That's"

"Quite."

Then Tucker remembered something. "Hang on. Cormack wasn't on duty today."

"She was, until I relieved her of it."

"Damn."

"That is an understatement."

"Now I get it." Trip scooped up a bite of sausage from his soup and blew on it to cool it before putting it in his mouth.

"Get what?" Malcolm wanted to know. He had to wait for the engineer to finishing chewing and swallowing before he got his answer. 

"I ran into her in here this afternoon. I asked her if she was supposed to be in the armory, and she said no. Now I know why."

Reed nodded. "I'm going to talk to her after dinner." He didn't sound pleased about the prospect.

*****

Stephanie was jamming. Her Daughters of Lear recording played at high volume, and she sang along and played air-guitar in true rock-star-wanna-be fashion. On the shelf over her bunk, a half empty bottle of vodka waited patiently for her. It wasn't long before she paused in her wild gyrations to grab the bottle and take a good swig.

The song came to an end and silence fell over the cabin. Stephanie was faced with a choice: replay or pick something new. She held the liquor bottle in one hand, using her free hand to push the loose wisps of hair away from her sweat-dampened face.

"This's boring," she said out loud to the empty room. She pouted. Then a slow, sly grin spread across her flushed face. "Wonder what Bonnie's up to?" Not letting go of her vodka, she wove the few steps to the computer and entered a command to locate the helmsman. As luck would have it, she was in her cabin. Stephanie ran another quick search. Bonnie was alone. "Good." She grinned salaciously.

She took a moment to put herself in order. She straightened the tank-top she wore, shook out her loose pants so they were hanging properly, and looked to be sure her shoes were still tied. Next she glanced into the small mirror. She frowned a little, trying to tidy the hair that had come loose from her braid. In the end, she decided it just looked rumpled and sexy as it was.

Finally, she searched around until she found the top to the vodka bottle. She took one more swallow before capping it, then dropped it into a deep pocket. It was an awkward weight, but she didn't have far to go with it.

She took a deep breath and stood as straight as she could manage, then opened the door.

*****

Fraser started as the door chimed. "Come in?" she called, setting aside the datapad she'd been reading. The door slid open and Bonnie smiled in pleasant surprise. She rose from her seat at the desk. "Hey, Stephanie? What's up? We missed you at dinner."

The blonde woman pushed away from the wall where she leaned and stepped into the room. The door slipped shut behind her, and she turned to face it.

"What are you doing?" queried Bonnie.

Stephanie didn't answer. Her fingers found the control panel and she typed in an override locking code—one only security personnel and senior officers could break. "There," she said, and turned to face Bonnie once again. A smile spread across her face. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Bonnie eyed her uncertainly. Something in the smaller woman's manner was setting off alarm bells in her head. When Stephanie reached into a pocket a pulled out a bottle, the bells became a siren. "What the hell?" Bonnie looked at her friend closely. "You're drunk."

Stephanie held up a hand, thumb and forefinger held roughly a centimeter apart. "Little bit," she answered with a grin. She uncapped the bottle and took a drink. "Want some?"

"No!" declared Bonnie. "And neither do you!" She tried to grab the bottle, but Cormack snatched it out of her reach.

"Ah-ah-ah," she said in a scolding tone. "If you don't want some, then it's just more for me." She went to take another drink, but this time Bonnie managed to intercept her. She grabbed the bottle away, inadvertently splashing some down Cormack's shirt, and retreated towards her bunk. Cormack looked down at herself. "That's a waste," she said, carefully enunciating every word. She didn't want Bonnie to think she was so drunk she was going to pass out. Stephanie had other plans before she would let that happen.

She took two steps toward the auburn-haired helmsman, grasped the front of her uniform, and pulled her close. Bonnie was surprised at her strength, considering the amount of alcohol she must have consumed.

"Pretty," said Stephanie looking up into Bonnie's eyes. "Green."

"Oh shit," muttered Bonnie. She tried to dislodge the armory officer with one hand, the other still occupied with keeping the bottle of liquor out of her reach.

Stephanie held on. She kissed the taller woman abruptly, trying to sneak one hand up to reclaim the vodka Bonnie held.

But Bonnie was taller, quicker, and unhindered by alcohol. She pulled her lips away from the other woman's at the same time she wrenched her uniform free. Stephanie stumbled at the loss of contact and support, nearly falling onto the nearby bunk. She frowned.

"Not nice."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said. She tried another tactic. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll pour us both a drink?"

Now Stephanie grinned. "Yes, please," she replied, sitting on Bonnie's bunk. She bounced up and down a little. "Mmm. Comfy."

_Shit, shit!_ thought Bonnie. _This is _not_ how I pictured this!_ "There are glasses in the lav," she said. "I'll be right back."

"I'll miss you," the blonde said with a suggestive pout.

"Yeah." Bonnie ducked into the lav. _She's gonna be furious,_ she thought as she emptied the last of the vodka down the drain and threw the bottle into the trash chute. She quickly grabbed a pair of drinking glasses and filled them with cold water.

Stephanie was where she'd left her, sitting on the edge of the bunk. "Here." Bonnie handed her a glass. "Drink this."

The armory officer smiled and raised the glass in a toast. "You're gorgeous, you know," she said with a lopsided smile. She took a swallow of water and choked. Instantly Bonnie was at her side. Setting her own glass on the nightstand, she took Stephanie's now empty one from her and put it there, too. She wrapped an arm around the coughing woman, holding her until she could catch her breath.

"You okay?" Bonnie asked, rubbing her hand up and down Stephanie's back to comfort her.

"What the fuck?" Stephanie finally gasped. Her eyes were glassy, and her cheeks were now pale instead of flushed. Slowly, a stern look tried to manifest itself on her face. "That was a rottentrick," she scolded.

"I'm sorry, but you've had enough booze," Bonnie said firmly. "Have some more water." She reached for the second glass, but she never got there. As she leaned over, Stephanie took advantage of her brief imbalance to knock the helmsman down onto the bunk. "Wha—?" Before Bonnie could get out another syllable, Stephanie was straddling her, pinning her down and kissing her furiously. The helmsman struggled, her brain whirling.

_This is what you wanted,_ the little voice in her head reminded her.

_Not like this!_ she protested. _Not when she's drunk! Not when she doesn't even know what she's doing!_

Stephanie's tongue snaked into Bonnie's mouth and began exploring.

_Seems to me she knows just what she's doing,_ Bonnie's little voice said snidely. Almost against her will, the helmsman found herself kissing back, enjoying the play of their lips and tongues.

_No!_ Then out loud, "No!" She pushed the smaller woman off, knocking her into the bulkhead. Stephanie grunted with the impact. "Not like this," Bonnie continued. She sat up and caught her breath.

Stephanie fought to rise to her knees, but it was a challenge. The alcohol was starting to win out, and the wind had been knocked out of her when Bonnie had thrown her off. She crawled the short distance and put a hand on Bonnie's shoulder, pushing herself up. "Come on. It'll be fun," she murmured into the helmsman's ear.

Bonnie pulled away and stood abruptly, causing Stephanie to fall flat on the bed. "Ugh!" she grunted as she hit.

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Bonnie. She knelt next to the bunk and put a gentle hand on Stephanie's cheek. "Fuck," she breathed, dismayed, as she gazed into the blonde's glazed eyes. "You're so wasted."

Now that Stephanie was laying down, she didn't want to get up again. She closed her eyes, consciousness drifting away and back again like waves lapping at the beach. The image and the feeling made her stomach turn unpleasantly. She frowned.

"Uh-oh," said Bonnie recognizing the signs. "No, no." She hauled the smaller woman to her feet. Stephanie moaned in protest at the movement. "Hang on. Almost there." Bonnie maneuvered them both into the lav and lifted the seat on the head. She eased Stephanie down as smoothly as she could, but it wasn't smoothly enough.

One hand clutched at her stomach, Stephanie fell the last centimeters to her knees. She tensed as the nausea became too much and she vomited. Bonnie knelt beside her, one arm around her shoulders and the other hand gently supporting her forehead, keeping the loose wisps of hair from her face.

It wasn't long before Stephanie's stomach was empty. She'd eaten nothing all day, so there was nothing to expel but the alcohol she'd consumed. She sat back with Bonnie's help, and the helmsman removed her hand from Stephanie's forehead, using it to wipe a tear from the blonde's cheek. Stephanie had been vomiting so hard, her eyes had watered and spilled over from the strain.

"Be okay for a second?" Bonnie asked softly. Stephanie looked at her, managed a weak nod. Bonnie rose and grabbed a washcloth. She ran cold water over it and wrung it out well before kneeling beside Stephanie once more. Tenderly she cleaned the smaller woman's face of tears, sweat, spit, and bile.

Stephanie closed her eyes, the gentle touch lulling her. "Sorry," she muttered weakly.

"Shh. It's okay." Bonnie held her head in one hand, supporting it under her chin. "You think you're done?" Stephanie nodded. "Okay. We're gonna get up, and you're gonna get in bed. All right?" Stephanie nodded again. "Here we go." Bonnie put Stephanie's arm over her shoulder, snaking her own arm around the blonde's back, and they rose shakily. Slowly they made their way to Bonnie's bunk. Once there, the helmsman paused and pulled back the covers with her free hand before gently lowering the semi-conscious woman onto the bunk. Bonnie lifted Stephanie's feet, getting her whole body on the bed. The armory officer curled up on her side facing the bulkhead, shivering. Bonnie removed Stephanie's shoes and then pulled the blanket up over her.

The helmsman placed a soft kiss on Stephanie's temple before standing back and looking down at her. "Damn," Bonnie whispered. She turned on the small light over her roommate's bunk, and then shut off all the other lights in the cabin. It wasn't long before Stephanie's breathing evened out and her body relaxed in sleep. _What the hell happened to her?_ Bonnie mused, worried. _I need to find Mae. Maybe she has a clue._ She knew her bunkmate had planned to stop by engineering to check on a program she was running. It was a good bet that was where Bonnie would find her.

Judging it would be several hours before Stephanie woke, she decided it would be safe to leave her alone for a minute or two. Bonnie tried to open the cabin door, but it was locked. Annoyed, she punched in her unlock code. Still the door wouldn't respond. "Dammit!" she cursed softly, and tried again. No luck. There was a small light flashing on the control panel, and realization finally hit her. "Security lockdown. Fuck." She briefly considered trying to break the code, but promptly discarded the idea for two reasons. First, it would take longer than she was willing to spend right then. Second, it would undoubtedly raise all sorts of alarms, and this was a situation she wanted to keep as quiet as possible. She was stuck. She couldn't get out, and when Mae returned she wouldn't be able to get in. She needed "Lieutenant Reed."

*****

Malcolm had rung the chime a number of times. Finally he had to conclude that Stephanie wasn't in her quarters. Even if she wanted to avoid him, she wouldn't blatantly ignore the repeated ringing of her doorbell. There were a number of places she might be, and he didn't care to waste time searching them all to find her. He resolved to return to his quarters and query the computer to track down her location. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation with the ensign, but the incident that morning had to be resolved as soon as possible so he could get his department running properly once again.

It was as he waited for the turbolift that he received the hail.

"Ensign Fraser to Lieutenant Reed." 

Puzzled, he opened the comm line. "Reed here. Go ahead, Ensign."

"Ineed your help, Lieutenant," came her reply. She sounded odd, but Reed couldn't quite place the tone of her voice.

"In what way?" he asked.

"I'm locked in."

"What?" He was now puzzled and annoyed. "I'm not a lock-smith, Ensign," he told her, mildly chiding.

"I know, sir. It's There's a security lockdown on my cabin door. I can't override it."

"How on Earth?"

But Fraser cut him off. "Please, Lieutenant. I'll explain everything, but could you come unlock the door?"

"Where are you?" She gave him the location of her cabin. It was only a few corridors away. "I'll be right there. And you had best have a very good explanation when I arrive."

In her darkened cabin, Fraser looked over at the sleeping Cormack. "Oh, I do, sir. Guaranteed."

Reed and Lawless arrived at the cabin door at the same time. She was coming from engineering, her project secured for the night.

"Hey, Lieutenant," said Mae amiably. "What's going on?"

"It seems your bunkmate has locked herself in," he replied tersely. 

"What? How?"

"We'll find out together, shall we?" He typed in the command code that would override the security lockout on the door, and it slid open. "All right, Ensign," he began, stepping into the room.

"Shh!" Fraser hushed him vehemently. She all but forced him and Lawless back out into the corridor, letting the door close once more.

"What is going on?" demanded Reed and the same time Lawless asked, "What's up?"

"Stephanie's asleep," Fraser answered softly. Then she added with some trepidation, "Well, really, she's more passed out than asleep."

Lawless's eyes widened in shock. "She's not?"

Fraser nodded. "She is. She's completely wasted."

"What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know! She showed up half an hour ago, drunk and horny as hell. I got the booze away from her and put her to bed." She shrugged helplessly. "I've got no clue what set her off."

Reed was watching the exchange between the two women with a concerned but analytical eye when a terrible thought struck him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, gaining the ensigns' attention. "Iyelled at her," he said softly. The women stared at him in surprise. "This morning," he added. "She made a mistake—a very dangerous one—and I relieved her of duty. I was just looking for her to discuss it when you hailed me."

It was clear to Fraser and Lawless what he was thinking. It was Mae who spoke up. "No. That can't be it," she said with certainty. "She's been acting kind of weird ever since we got out of that neutronic storm. That can't be it," she repeated. She looked from one concerned face to the other. "You don't think she might have some kind of radiation poisoning, do you?" she asked, the idea suddenly occurring to her.

"Maybe," said Fraser.

"No." Reed shook his head. "I don't think that's it, either." Something he'd forgotten all about had just leapt to mind. He looked at the anxiously waiting ensigns. "She received an urgent communiqué the other day. It was in the massive download _Enterprise_ picked up when we emerged from the storm. I assumed it was news about the World Series." He shrugged lamely.

"That's got to be it. We need to know what was in that message," declared Fraser. "Lieutenant, can you find out?"

"I'm not accustomed to breaking into others' private correspondence, Ensign," he informed her firmly.

"Fuck privacy!" Fraser suddenly remembered who she was talking to and belatedly added, "Sir." She took a moment to collect herself. "I'm sorry, sir. But if you won't do it, I can. You know I'm good at code-breaking," she reminded him.

"Yes, I do," he replied dryly.

Lawless was at a loss until she remembered last month and the radiation that had caused the crew to obsess over bizarre things. Fraser had broken into the classified crew files. It now occurred to Mae just whose files she'd accessed. "You've busted into her files before!" she exclaimed.

"Sh!" Fraser shushed her sharply. "Yes. And I'll do it again." She looked at Reed. "But if _you_ do it, it's only a breach in protocol, not regulations—at least, not in the strictest sense."

The lieutenant considered carefully before nodding once. "All right."

"We can use the computer in here," Fraser said, gesturing to the cabin behind her. "As long as we're quiet she's not gonna wake up for a while, and I don't want to leave her alone too long. She might get sick again."

"All right."

The trio entered the cabin quietly. Cormack hadn't moved a muscle. Lawless approached and put a warm hand on her cheek. "Poor buddy," she murmured. "What did this to you?"

Reed sat at the computer and began his search. It was simple to find Cormack's personal sub-directory. He narrowed his search to the past fifty hours. "There it is," he said softly. Lawless and Fraser flanked him, each looking over his shoulder at the screen. He used his command codes to override her lockout, hating every moment of the invasion of his friend's privacy.

He glanced at the women on either side of him. "Are you certain you want to do this?" he asked.

"Of course!" Lawless said, beating Fraser to the punch by a millisecond. She looked at Reed, concern clear in her brown eyes despite the low light. "She hasn't had a drink in ten years, Lieutenant. Whatever sent her over the edge, we need to know so we can help her get back."

Put that way, even Malcolm's reservations vanished. He called up the urgent communiqué. The three watched as a man appeared on screen. He looked tired, with dark shadows under his deep brown eyes.

"Who is that?" asked Bonnie in a whisper.

"Her brother-in-law, Marston," answered Mae just as softly.

The man began to speak in a lilting Indian accent. "Stephanie, I'm afraid I have bad news. Your sister There was an explosion in your sister's laboratory at the university. Something to do with fertilizers, I think. Something was leaking, they say, and when she began an experiment with her class I don't know. The authorities are still investigating the cause. Two of her students were killed in the blast. Ryn was hurtbadly. She's in surgery now. II wish I had more to tell you. Something positive and hopeful. I don't. The doctors don't know yet if she'll recover, or if she wakes what damage may linger. I hate having to tell you this when you're so far away. I know there's nothing you can do, but Gemma and your mother agreed you should know what was going on. They send you their love. I promise you they or I will contact you as soon as we know more. I'm sorry, Stephanie."

The message ended, and the trio continued to stare at the screen in silence.

"God damn," breathed Mae finally. "Not again." Malcolm and Bonnie looked at her, confusion plain on their faces. "Her dad died in an explosion. He was an armaments specialist—not with Starfleet, with the provincial militia. Old school. His great-grandfather was a soldier during the Eugenics Wars. Had a big influence on him when he was a kid." She realized she was babbling information that she probably shouldn't be sharing, so she stopped. Unable to contain herself, however, she burst out angrily, "I cannot _believe_ her mother okayed that message!"

At that moment, Stephanie muttered something in her sleep and rolled over. They glanced towards her and then at each other, all reaching the same unspoken decision. Malcolm shut off the computer and the three stepped back out into the corridor.

"Can you two look after her tonight?" Reed asked. The women both nodded. "I'll tell Phlox what's happened. Don't worry," he added at their distressed looks, "it won't go any further. I doubt anyone on this ship is better at keeping secrets than the good doctor, despite how we all try. I'll ask him to come by here in the morning. She's bound to have a hell of a hangover, and he'll be able to take care of it."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Bonnie.

He looked at her, and the guilt he felt was written on his face in spite of his attempt to hide it. "It's the least I can do." _Considering my part in this mess,_ his mind added silently.

It was as if Fraser could read his thoughts. "It's not your fault, sir. None of us had any way of knowing what was wrong."

"No. I suppose not," he said, although he didn't really believe it. "Excuse me, Ensigns. I'll go speak to Doctor Phlox." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode away in the direction of sickbay. The women watched him go, then turned to look at one another.

"One of us should tell Liz Stephanie won't be home tonight," said Mae finally.

"I'll go," offered Bonnie, thought she really didn't want to.

Mae shook her head. "I'll do it. You stay with her. She shouldn't be alone when she wakes up."

*****

His next stop after sickbay was an obvious one. Malcolm opened the door to Trip's quarters and stepped inside. "Mind if I come in?"

"You already have, but come on in," joked Trip, happy to see his lover. His smile faded as he took in the expression on Malcolm's face and the defeated slump of his shoulders. "What's wrong? Did you talk to Ensign Cormack?" He felt a protective flare swell inside him, wondering what she'd said or done to make his partner look so downhearted. He stood and approached Malcolm, but the armory officer moved away and sat heavily on the end of the bunk.

"I didn't speak with her, no," Reed said, as Tucker sat down beside him. "I couldn't."

"Why not? She hiding from you again?" Trip asked, remembering her past patterns of behavior.

"No."

"Then what?"

"She's drunk. Passed out."

"What? She doesn't drink," protested the engineer, confused.

"She used to."

Slowly, Tucker understood. He'd never bothered to put the pieces together before. "She's an alcoholic, isn't she?" Reed nodded. "Then what the hell's she doing on a Starship?" he demanded angrily.

Startled by his lover's sudden angry turn, his own temper flared a bit. "She's not had a drink in ten years," declared Reed, remembering what Lawless had told them. "Or rather, she hadn't."

"That doesn't mean—"

Malcolm cut him off. "What? That she couldn't break down anytime? She's human, remember—like you and me. She's doing the best she can, Trip, just like everyone else on board. You can't condemn her for her past, particularly when you don't know anything about it!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" Tucker took a deep breath. He looked into Reed's blazing eyes and what he saw there frightened him. He'd never seen anything like it. "What's wrong?" he asked softly. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and rested it on the older man's shoulder. "What can I do to make it better?"

Malcolm shook his head. His anger had faded, leaving the same feeling of helplessness he'd had when he arrived on Trip's doorstep. "Nothing."

They sat in silence for a while until Trip ventured another question. "Do you know what happened? What caused it?"

"Yes."

Another brief silence. "You can't say." It was less a question than a statement of understanding.

"No. I can't."

"Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't know. I expect so." How could he explain? It wasn't Stephanie who was lying in a hospital bed back on Earth. Whatever happened back home, she'd survive, but how would she cope with that survival when she woke up tomorrow morning? There was no way to guess.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Tucker asked him gently.

Malcolm didn't respond. There were too many thoughts and emotions roiling around inside him. He couldn't help thinking he ought to have noticed something was wrong. Stephanie hadn't been herself since they'd come through the storm. He'd dismissed her unusual behavior as the residual effects of being stuck in a small space with more than eighty other people for eight days. Now he knew it was something else entirely, and he blamed himself for not realizing it sooner.

"Malcolm?" Trip was worried, and it came through in his voice. "Talk to me."

"I should have known something was wrong. I'm supposed to be her friend as well as her C.O. If I'd paid attention, I'd have noticed. I could have found out before" He let the sentence trail off.

"Before what?" prompted Tucker.

"Before I yelled at her," Malcolm finished despondently. "Before I sent her over the edge."

"Malcolm," said Trip deliberately. "You're not a mind-reader." Gently but firmly, he took Malcolm's chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning the smaller man's head to face him. "I don't know what happened, and I don't know Stephanie like you do, but I've seen enough of her to know that getting yelled at by her C.O. isn't enough to make her do what she did."

"Not alone, no," agreed Malcolm. "But in addition—"

"No. You can't blame yourself for something you had no control over." He looked deep into his lover's bright blue eyes. "It's not your fault." Slowly, Reed nodded. Trip wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten through to Malcolm, but he took what he could get. He released his hold on his lover's jaw. "All right. You want to stay here tonight? I have to get up earlier than usual tomorrow, but I'll stay with you as long as I can."

"I'd like that," Malcolm said quietly.

"Me, too."

*****  
End Log 2:12  
_Completed 21 Jan 03_

Continued in Log 2:13


	13. Log 2:13

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:13**: (Takes place immediately following _Log 2:12_ and preceding _Dawn_.)  
_Rating – [R]_ – language

*****

Bonnie woke and lay very still. Even without checking the chronometer she knew it was far too early in the morning to consider disturbing her sleeping companion. Besides which she had to admit she liked it where she was—spooned warmly behind Stephanie. Bonnie resisted the temptation to reach her arm around the blonde woman. Instead, she grudgingly settled for allowing her hand to rest gently on Stephanie's shoulder. She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

*****

Mayweather entered the launch bay and looked around. Spotting Commander Tucker next to Shuttlepod One, he called out cheerfully, "Morning, Commander!"

Tucker glanced up from checking over his toolkit. "Morning, Travis," he replied with little enthusiasm. He hadn't slept well despite Malcolm's presence, and he'd risen even earlier than he'd planned. He'd hated leaving his sleeping lover, particularly when he'd promised last night to stay with him as long as possible before he had to go on duty. The idea that Malcolm would have since woken alone in Trip's cabin gnawed at his conscience. He would have to apologize the moment he next saw the tactical officer.

"Everything okay, sir?" inquired Mayweather.

"Rough night," was Trip's uninformative response. "Ready to start on the auto-pilot upgrades?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I wouldn't be so eager if I were you," joked Tucker, trying to regain some semblance of his usual pleasant demeanor. "This thing works well enough, you may just be out of a job."

"That's why I'm looking forward to working on it."

"Huh?"

"Know your enemy," said Travis in an overly dramatic tone. Then he grinned. Tucker couldn't help but grin back; Mayweather's broad smile was just too infectious to leave anyone in a bad mood for long.

"Then let's get to work."

*****

Reed passed a relatively leisurely early morning. He woke alone before the alarm sounded, unconsciously missing the warmth of his lover's body next to him. It took him a moment to remember Trip had an early shift. He rose and dressed, then stopped by the mess hall to grab a quick breakfast, which he took back to his own cabin to eat. Once he was sufficiently fed, he decided a quick shower and change of uniform were in order. 

The captain's hail came while he was in the middle of dressing for duty.

"Archer to Lieutenant Reed."

Reed tossed his damp towel down the laundry chute as he crossed his cabin to the comm panel. He opened the line. "Go ahead, sir."

"I'd like you stop by my ready room before you go on duty this morning, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." A number of possible reasons for the captain's request sprang to Reed's mind, but he kept his theories to himself. "I'll be there shortly."

"Good. Archer out."

Malcolm closed his end of the comm and quickly finished dressing. He combed through his drying hair with his fingers. A glance in the mirror told him he looked acceptable for a visit to the captain's office.

It was a short turbolift ride to the bridge. He nodded greetings to T'Pol, Sato, and the morning's helmsman, Ensign Hutchison, as he crossed the deck to Archer's ready room. He pressed the chime and heard Archer call, "Come in."

Reed entered the room, allowing the door to close behind him before speaking. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat," Archer said, waving a hand at the empty chair in front of the desk. The lieutenant sat, his neutral expression betraying nothing of his thoughts about this meeting. Archer leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on his computer monitor. "I was just going over last night's comm logs," he began. This was all it took for Reed to know why he was here. "There are someoddities. I think maybe you can shed some light on them."

"Possibly." Reed was still reticent; he didn't want to tip his hand quite yet. "What sort of oddities, sir?"

The captain fixed him with a stern look. He wasn't in the mood for a Q&A this morning. "I think you already know the answer to that. Now would you care to tell me why you used your authority to break into a subordinate's private mail? And why there's a notation in the records that you're to be notified the next time she receives a message from her family?"

"It's not against regulations, sir."

"Not when there's a good reason." Archer paused briefly. "I presume you have a good reason."

"Yes, sir."

There was another silence.

"I'm waiting," the Captain prompted.

"It'spersonal, sir."

Archer frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. "There are a number of reasons why you might legitimately do what you did. All of them are reasons for concern, in my book. As Captain of this ship, I need to know what's going on."

Malcolm remained uncommunicative. "It's not my place to say, sir."

"But it's your place to intercept Ensign Cormack's correspondence?"

"I have no intention of intercepting anything, Captain," protested Reed. "I simply want to know when she gets another letter from home."

"Why?"

Here Reed hesitated again. What could he say that would satisfy the captain without betraying Cormack's privacy? "I want to be certain she isn't alone when she gets the letter."

"That suggests it's going to be very bad news," said Archer, somewhat taken aback. He couldn't say what he'd expected to hear, but it definitely wasn't this.

"It could be, yes, sir."

The Captain regarded his Tactical Officer in silence. Normally, this sort of reserve was something one desired in one's head of security; it was a good sign that he wouldn't readily hand over information. In the case of personal communications, however, it was annoying as hell. Jon sat back in his chair, letting his loosely-clasped hands rest in his lap. "That 'miscommunication' you had in the armory yesterday morning—might that have anything to do with what's going on?"

"Yes, sir," Reed answered promptly.

"And I saw from your report that you relieved Ensign Cormack of duty shortly thereafter, and haven't yet rescinded the order."

"Yes, sir," repeated the lieutenant.

Finally Archer had had enough of Malcolm's equivocating. He cut to the chase. "I don't know what's going on in your department, Malcolm, and it's clear that short of me ordering you, you're not going to tell me. I don't want to pry into the personal affairs of my crew, and I'm not trying to tell you how to run the armory, but I need to know if Ensign Cormack is going to pose any sort of danger to this ship."

"No, sir." Reed was firm. "I assure you she will not pose any danger to the ship or to any other member of the crew." He'd been ready for this question and had already formulated his response. He wondered if it sounded as rehearsed to Archer's ears as it did to his own.

It wasn't the formality of the language that caught the captain's ear, however; it was the words themselves. "Any _other_ member of the crew?" Reed was silent. "I don't like mysteries, Lieutenant." The two men regarded one another across the desk, Archer's face dark with frustration, Reed's impassive. It was the captain who broke first. "I trust that whatever this is, it won't affect the smooth running of _Enterprise_. If it does, you'll be in here again. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"Dismissed."

Without another word, Reed rose and departed.

Archer let out an irritated sigh when he'd gone. "I honestly do not know how he and Trip manage to get along so well," he muttered to the empty room.

*****

Bonnie felt the woman next to her shift position. The slight movement was followed by a low moan of misery. The helmsman sat up carefully and looked down at Stephanie's pained expression. "Morning," she said softly.

"Don't shout," mumbled Stephanie. "What?" She let the question dangle as memory assaulted her. "Shit." She tried to sit up but only got her head a centimeter off the pillow before giving up. "I'm sorry."

"Shh. It's okay," Bonnie assured her. "Hang on." She rose from the bunk, making sure the covers were tucked snugly around Stephanie as the blonde shifted wearily onto her back. "Cover your eyes." Obligingly, Stephanie let one arm fall across her face, hiding in the darkness. Bonnie turned on the bedside lamp and Stephanie could hear her picking up something from the shelf above the bunk. "Turn your head."

Not up to protesting, Cormack turned her head away from the sound of the helmsman's voice. She felt a hypospray press against her neck and winced in response.

"How's that?" Bonnie asked.

Stephanie waited a moment for the contents of the injection to spread through her body. "Better," she managed finally. Cautiously she moved her arm from her eyes, squinting in the low light of the cabin. "Hey," she said as her eyes lit on the helmsman.

"Hey, yourself," replied Bonnie. "How are you?"

"Embarrassed as all hell, to start with." She pushed herself to a sitting position, sluggishly swinging her legs over the side of the bunk. Immediately Fraser set down the hypo and sat beside her, helping her up.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Stephanie glanced at the empty bed across the room. "Where's Mae?"

"Engineering."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence eventually broken by Cormack. "Sorry about" She trailed off. There was so much to apologize for, she didn't know where to begin.

"It's okay. Really."

"Shit." Stephanie rested her elbows on her knees and lowered her head into her hands.

Bonnie put an arm around her shoulders. "Are you gonna be sick again?" Stephanie shook her head once and Bonnie let out a relieved sigh. "You want some water?"

"Yes, please. And could you lace it with a little strychnine?"

Bonnie chuckled gently. "One glass of water, coming up. No strychnine. Sorry."

Stephanie waited in silence as Bonnie disappeared into the lav. She heard water running, and shortly thereafter the auburn-haired woman reappeared. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Stephanie took the glass and sipped at it.

Once again Bonnie sat beside her. "Do you" she began hesitantly, then paused. She nervously scratched one eyebrow with her opposite thumb and tried again. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Unfortunately, I think I'm pretty clear on damn near all of it."

"Oh. Good."

Another silence as Stephanie continued to sip at the cool water. She imagined she could feel it running all the way down her throat, through her esophagus, and into her stomach. The cold tingling was a welcome change from the burning alcohol she'd consumed the night before.

"Do you remember whyyou started drinking?"

Stephanie's shoulders stiffened. "Yes," she replied tightly.

"You know," Bonnie began, trying to lighten the heavy mood, "once you shake off that hangover you've got, Mae's probably gonna kick your ass."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. We're all taking numbers. I think Lieutenant Reed is second, and then Liz. I'm fourth, but at least I got in ahead of Commander Tucker. After all, he doesn't actually know what all happened."

"As if he needed a reason," Stephanie muttered bitterly to herself. Then she added sarcastically, "Terrific. Just what I need to make my life complete." She glared at Bonnie; it was easy when her head hurt so much. "It wasn't my first choice, you know."

"What wasn't?"

"Getting drunk."

"That's not why we're gonna kick your ass. Well, not as far as I know, anyway," Fraser amended.

Now Stephanie was confused as much as angry. "Huh? What then? Did I do something even more heinous than I can remember while I was fucked up?"

"No. It was the dumbass thing you did _before_ getting fucked up."

"Before? Shit! What did I do!?" Stephanie felt miserable enough without this bizarre conversation she was having. Here she was, waking up in the bed of someone she'd really wanted to wake up with, but instead of the morning following a night of hot sex, it followed a night of drunken idiocy.

"Why didn't you come to us when you got the news about your sister?"

"How did you find out—?"

"We saw the message you got from your brother-in-law."

"You _what_?! You broke into my mail?!" Cormack's anger was back in a flash, momentarily subsuming the throbbing in her head. Conversely, the adrenaline rush only made her stomach twist more.

"No. I would've, but Lieutenant Reed did it instead."

"_What?!_"

"He has the authority. It's in Starfleet Regs. Something about when someone is incapacitated her C.O. might need to access her files to contact her family or find out what the hell sent her over the edge in the first place," said Bonnie pointedly.

"Splendid."

"So?"

"So?" echoed Cormack, her mind not really on the words. Her stomach was roiling unpleasantly and it was taking all her willpower to keep from throwing up.

"So, when you got the news," persisted Bonnie, "why didn't you tell anyone? Why did you make us go looking for whatever had hurt you so bad you felt you had to hurt yourself?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" asked Stephanie through clenched teeth.

Bonnie was about to argue when she took a good look at her friend. Cormack's normally pale face looked positively sallow, and while one hand held the glass of water in a death-grip, the other was clenched in a fist in her lap.

"C'mon." Fraser stood abruptly.

"Huh? Ugh!"

Bonnie yanked Stephanie to her feet and took away the glass. "C'mon," she repeated, helping the smaller woman to the lav. "I know that look too well." As she had the night before, she lowered Stephanie to her knees and raised the lid on the head.

Without hesitation, Stephanie leaned over the bowl and heaved, the little water she'd had coming back up on a wave of acid and bile. When the convulsions finally stopped, she sat back with a groan. Bonnie already had a damp cloth waiting.

"Here you go," she said, handing it to Stephanie.

"Thanks." Stephanie wiped her face. "Can I have that water back? I want to rinse my mouth out."

"Yeah. I'll get it." The helmsman rose and returned quickly with the water and the hypospray. She handed the glass over, and Stephanie took it gratefully. She rinsed out her mouth and spit the liquid into the head. 

"Better," she declared. "Not good, but better."

"You want another injection?" offered Bonnie.

"What is it?"

"No clue. Phlox brought it by last night while you were asleep, and it helped a little before, didn't it?"

"I suppose so. Go for it." Stephanie tilted her head to the side and Bonnie administered another dose of the medication. "Where was this stuff when I was a kid, eh?" asked the blonde with a relieved sigh.

"Better?"

"Definitely better." Cautiously, she stood, letting her free hand rest on the edge of the sink for balance. "I think I might live to have my ass kicked now," she joked bitterly.

Bonnie rose, too, shutting the lid to the head and flushing it. "About that—" she began. The look on Stephanie's face was enough to stop her mid-phrase.

"Please," the armory ensign said. "I'm willing to have this conversation—in fact I'm pretty damn sure I'm gonna have it several times before the day is out—but can it wait until I've had a shower and some breakfast? I stink, and I'm _starving_."

Bonnie was surprised. "You want _breakfast_? You don't eat breakfast."

"I do when I'm getting over a hangover."

"Okay. I need to shower and get dressed, too, and I could sure use something to eat. How about I get my stuff, walk with you to your place for your stuff, and we can both grab a shower."

Stephanie wanted to make a suggestive comment about sharing a shower, but she was too embarrassed by her behavior the night before to even attempt that kind of joke right now. _Shame,_ she thought sadly. _So much for that._ Instead she went with the antithetical option. She said flatly, "I don't need a keeper."

"What?"

"I'm not going to do anything else stupid. No—" She paused, thinking. "Let me rephrase that. I'm not gonna go boozing it up again."

"I didn't suggest you were," argued Bonnie defensively. In truth, she, Mae, and Liz had all agreed to keep an eye on Stephanie today—until they were sure she would be all right on her own. It was as if Stephanie had read her mind.

"You didn't have to," the blonde said bitterly. "I've been here before."

"Can't I just be worried about you?" It was the rest of the truth—the part Bonnie was willing to share. "You were a mess when you showed up here last night. And you weren't in real great shape even five minutes ago. You can imagine whatever motives you want, but the fact is I care what happens to you. So like it or not, you're stuck with me as your shadow until I have to go on duty."

There was a tense silence as Stephanie's tired brain absorbed and processed the words she'd just heard. Her heart gave a small skip of hope, but she bashed it down cynically. "Fine," she said so sharply that Bonnie visibly winced. Stephanie wanted to apologize, but her stubborn streak wouldn't let her. "When do you go on duty?" she asked angrily.

"Beta shift."

Stephanie closed her eyes for a brief moment. She didn't think she could keep up her angry front that long when what she really wanted was this woman's company and comfort. She'd been good at staying mad when she was younger, but she'd happily fallen out of practice. "Who's turn is it to baby-sit after that?"

"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," snapped Bonnie, her patience finally cracking. "Face it. Your friends care about you. Gee, doesn't that just suck?"

"I didn't ask—" Stephanie began, but the helmsman cut her off.

"No, you didn't. And that's the point. You had a problem and you didn't ask for help. Not from Liz, not from Mae or me, not from Lieutenant Reed. There's a perfectly good counselor aboard, but you didn't even talk to him. You didn't trust any of us enough to talk to us. You just locked yourself up and dove into a bottle of vodka. Well excuse me for feeling hurt and pissed off." Bonnie was furious, her fiery temper running away with her good sense. "You know what? Go. You don't want to be around me? Fine. Get out. I have plenty of other things I could do with my morning than keep you company. Fuck you. Go."

Stephanie stared at her, stunned. She had no idea what to say. She clenched her jaw, this time fighting back tears rather than nausea. With one nod of her head, she turned and left the cabin.

Bonnie stood there for several seconds, shaking with fury. Then a horrible sinking feeling hit her in the gut as she realized what she'd done. She sank on shaking legs to her bunk, picked up the abandoned hypospray and fiddled with it absently as she muttered to herself. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

*****

"Commander?" called Lawless.

"Over here," came the reply from across the launch bay.

The ensign made her way to the far shuttlepod and stuck her head through the open hatch. "I have the equipment you asked for." She handed the silver case she carried to the blond man. "How's it going?" she asked, glancing from him to Mayweather, who was flat on his back under the pod's control console.

"Pretty good," Tucker replied. He set the case on one of the benches and opened it up. "We ought to be ready for testing in another day or two."

Lawless nodded. "That's great."

"Yeah," agreed Mayweather, sliding out from under the console so he could see her while he talked. "If it works well enough, I might get a little extra time off," he joked.

"Liz'd like that," quipped Lawless. She turned to Tucker. "Did you need anything else, sir?"

"Nope. Thanks."

"Okay. See you later." She turned to go.

"Wait," said Trip, surprising her. Lawless stopped, an inquisitive look on her face.

"Yes, sir?"

Tucker looked at Travis. "I'll be right back." Without waiting for a reply, he hopped out of the shuttlepod. He gestured to Mae to walk with him. Puzzled, she nodded and the two strolled slowly toward the door through which she'd first entered. When they were far enough from the shuttlepod that Trip was certain they wouldn't be overheard, he asked, "How's Ensign Cormack?"

Lawless tried to hide her surprise at his inquiry, but she had only limited success. Tucker noticed and cursed himself inwardly. Malcolm was right; this problem he had with Stephanie had to stop.

"She's okay, I guess," Lawless said finally. "She and Bonnie were still asleep when I left this morning."

Trip was confused. "She stayed with you two last night?"

"Yes, sir. We couldn't exactly take her back to her own cabin without someone noticing, after all," she added in an undertone.

"Right. Of course." He hesitated, not quite sure how his next question would be taken. "Do you know what happened? Toset her off, I mean?"

Again Lawless was shocked, but this time she didn't try to hide it. "Lieutenant Reed didn't say?" she asked. Tucker shook his head. "Well I" Mae was stuck. She'd assumed Reed had told the commander everything. Now that she knew he hadn't, she wasn't sure what she should do. "It's really not my place," she said at last. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's all right, Mae," Trip said. He hadn't really expected her to tell him. It seemed the protective streak towards Ensign Cormack wasn't limited to Malcolm. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"Thank you, Commander," Mae replied, genuinely touched. "She'll appreciate that."

Tucker nodded mutely, not sure what else to say. Lawless recognized his discomfort and gave him a way out of the awkward moment.

"I've got to go. I told Lieutenant Hess I'd only be gone a minute. See you later, sir." She quickly left the launch bay. Once out in the corridor she headed back toward Main Engineering, bemused. _Well, what the hell do you know?_

*****

Malcolm found his errant ensign in the mess hall. She was alone at a table. The remnants of food that remained on the dishes before her attested to the huge meal she'd consumed. He approached the table, his mug of hot black tea held in both hands. Cormack didn't look up as he reached her. "May I join you?" he inquired formally.

Stephanie finally glanced up from the dregs of her latté. "Go ahead," she replied unenthusiastically.

Reed sat across from her and regarded her thoughtfully. She looked much better than she had last night. She'd showered and now wore a clean uniform. Her hair was once more in its usual tidy braid. Still, there were dark circles under her hazel eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked finally.

She looked at him and, ignoring his question, asked directly, "Is it your turn to yell at me?"

"I beg your pardon?" Malcolm was taken aback. 

He knew nothing about the fight she'd had with Bonnie, nor was he a part of the women's plan to keep a watchful eye on Cormack.

The ensign sighed. "Sorry," she said. "Nothing. Go on."

"I just wondered how you're feeling," he repeated. He sipped at his tea while he waited for her to answer.

She shrugged. "Alive. Stupid. Helpless." She stared down into her coffee mug, then glanced back up at him. "You mind if I get another before we go on? I promise not to take off."

Reed shook his head. "Of course not. I wouldn't presume to stand between you and your coffee," he added, trying to lighten her morose mood. He was rewarded with an almost-smile.

"Be right back." Stephanie took her mug to the drinks dispenser and ordered another double latté.

Malcolm watched her as she crossed the room, waited for her mug to fill, and then slowly meandered back. She looked exhausted; the uncharacteristic stoop of her shoulders particularly caught his attention. He fixed her with a concerned gaze as she resumed her seat.

Cormack noticed his expression and was immediately on the alert. "What?"

"Is there anything I can do?"

At his gentle inquiry, her defensive wall crumbled. "Take me home?" she asked plaintively, then chuckled mirthlessly at the futility of her request. "Stupid, eh? I couldn't do any more there than I can here. Except maybe know what the hell was going on. I haven't heard anything since that one message, you know that? I don't even know if she survived the surgery."

"I'm certain you'll hear something soon."

"Soon," she echoed. "I hate waiting." She gave another dry laugh, and the sound struck Malcolm as particularly desolate.

"Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Between sobering up and now? Only Bonnie." Her expression darkened at the memory.

On the alert for any subtle changes in his friend, Malcolm noticed it immediately. "What happened?"

Stephanie shrugged. "Nothing." Reed waited, sipping his tea. He knew if he was patient, she'd go on. He was right. "We got into an argument. Mostly about what a dumbass I was for not telling any of you what was going on."

"It's not entirely your fault," Malcolm said gently. He still blamed himself for his own part in her breakdown. No matter the rational arguments, he couldn't help but believe Stephanie would have been all right if only he hadn't reprimanded her. _The boulder that broke the camel's back,_ he thought bitterly. Aloud, he said, "We should have noticed something was wrong. We had plenty of time to realize you were upset, but none of us did. If we had" His voice was heavy with guilt despite his attempt to hide it.

"If. I can think of a hell of a lot of ifs right now, and not one of them makes me feel any better." She looked at Malcolm, seeing the worried friend, not the Starfleet officer. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I know that, and I'll deal with it."

"It's no one's fault," argued Malcolm, wishing he believed it.

"Sure it is," countered Stephanie easily. "I fucked up, Malcolm. I'll deal. But this time," she added, "I'm asking for help. I've already got an appointment with Kyrin for tomorrow afternoon."

"Good."

"And who knows? Maybe by then I'll know what happened back home."

"Maybe. Right now, though, I need to get back to work." He rose.

"Right." Stephanie stared into her mug, eyes trained on the bubbles of the foam. She suddenly didn't want to look her C.O. in the eye; his mention of work reminded her that she'd been relieved of duty.

Malcolm looked down at her bowed head. "And I expect you to be back on duty at 0700 tomorrow morning," he said firmly.

A slow smile spread across Cormack's face—the first genuine smile she'd sported in several days. She looked up and resolutely met his gaze. "Yes, sir."

*****

Malcolm and Trip sat at a mess hall table. They'd chatted quietly over dinner, each man sharing his day's more interesting events. Tucker eagerly told his partner how he and Mayweather had made great progress with the upgraded auto-pilot in Shuttlepod One. Reed in turn related how he and his team had finally completed all their weapon testing and found everything to be in excellent condition. Neither man brought up the topic that was foremost in both of their minds.

Tucker nibbled at a slice of pecan pie. It reminded Reed of something but it took him a moment to put his finger on what. When he did, he didn't know whether to laugh or to reach over and smack his lover on the head. He opted for neither. Instead he asked, "Are you busy tonight?"

Tucker washed down a bite of his pie with a swallow of milk before answering. "Not really. Why?"

"I thought I'd stay in and watch a movie. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" In fact, the movie was just an excuse for the invitation; Malcolm had ulterior motives.

Trip was too caught up in his own agenda to notice the gleam in his partner's eyes. "Sure. I just have a errand to run first."

"An errand?" Reed chuckled. "You make it sound like you're going to run down to the shops for a liter of milk."

"Yeah," agreed Trip, equally amused. "Does sound kind of silly, doesn't it?" He took a last bite of pie. "Actually, I should probably do it now before it gets late."

"What are you doing, anyway?"

Tucker was diffident. "I'd rather not say just yet. But I'll let you know how it goes."

"That's reasonable." Malcolm was dead curious, but he didn't pursue the issue. "See you in my cabin in I don't know. How long do you expect this 'errand' to take?"

Trip shrugged. "I don't really know. Not too long, I don't think. How about I meet you in half an hour?"

"All right."

"All right," Trip echoed, rising from the table.

"Don't you want to know what movie?" Malcolm asked before his partner could get away.

It hadn't even occurred to Trip to ask. "Nah. Whatever you want to watch is fine."

Reed give him a curious look. "Are you sure you're feeling well?" he asked only half jokingly.

"Sure. I'll see you in a little bit." Tucker departed, leaving Reed wondering.

*****

"Liz, go. I'll be fine, I swear."

Liz regarded her bunkmate dubiously. "No, I'll stay. It's okay. Travis will understand."

Stephanie tried to stifle her annoyance. She knew her friend was only trying to take care of her. The trouble was that was what her friends had been doing all day. The only time she'd been alone was the time from her fight with Bonnie until lunch, when Mae and Liz had found her. After that, they'd not let her out of their sight. Mae had spent the afternoon with her, and now Liz was about to cancel her date so she could watch Stephanie all evening. It was ridiculous. 

At least Stephanie had gotten no lecture from Mae. One swift smack up side the head and a vehement "Next time _tell me_ when something's wrong!" was all the engineer had required to be satisfied her friend knew where she stood. Liz, on the other hand, kept giving Stephanie disappointed looks when she thought the blonde wasn't looking. Despite Liz's assurances that "I'm not disappointed in _you_. I'm just disappointed that you didn't trust me," the armory ensign didn't think she could take a whole evening of it.

Cormack was about to protest again when the door to their quarters chimed. The two women exchanged a glance, confirming without a word that neither was expecting company. Liz opened the door.

"Commander," she said in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Ensign Cormack in?" Tucker asked. He was trying to be formal, businesslike, but he had the sinking feeling he wasn't fooling anyone.

Liz glanced over her shoulder at Stephanie who shrugged, an unreadable expression on her face. "She's right here. Come in." Cutler stepped aside to allow the engineer room to enter. She glanced back and forth between her bunkmate and Tucker. Trip shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and glanced uncertainly at Cutler, then Cormack, and back to Cutler. It was clear to Liz that whatever he wanted to say, he wasn't going to say it with her there. She made up her mind instantly; she wasn't going anywhere until she knew what was up. She crossed her arms. "Is there something we can do for you, sir?" she asked again.

Trip met Liz's sharp gaze. He'd spent enough time as a patient in sickbay to recognize the firm set of her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes. He chuckled humorlessly to himself. _Another one looking out for her,_ he thought, remembering his brief conversation with Lawless that morning. "Actually, I have something I want to discuss with Ensign Cormack," he answered pointedly. His meaning was clear; he wanted to speak with Stephanie alone.

"It's okay," Stephanie spoke up at last. She gave Liz a reassuring nod. "Go. Tell Travis I said hi," she added, hoping her friend would actually listen to her and leave.

Cutler hesitated but finally gave in. "Okay," she said, resigned. "You know where to find me." She turned to Commander Tucker once more, arms no longer crossed but hanging loosely at her sides. He thought she looked almost ready to take a swing at him. "Good evening, Commander." She shot a final encouraging smile at her bunkmate. "See you later."

Silence descended on the cabin at Liz's departure. Stephanie continued to sit on her bunk, cross-legged, with her copy of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ open next to her. She waited wordlessly for the lecture she assumed was coming; she had no intention of helping it along.

"Mind if I sit down?" asked Trip at last. Stephanie shook her head, gesturing mutely toward the desk chair. Tucker pulled it out and sat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What're you reading?" he asked, desperately searching for a way to make a connection with the ensign.

"Henry V."

"Huh. I've never read that one. I likedwhich one was it?" He thought for a moment, searching his memory for the title. "King Lear."

Stephanie almost smiled. "That's my favorite," she admitted.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

Another awkward silence fell. Still Stephanie waited. As far as she was concerned, the ball was entirely in Tucker's court. He'd sought her out after months of avoiding and ignoring her. She figured he'd get to the reason eventually.

"I heard a little bit about what happened last night." Tucker's words were hesitant, almost as if he was afraid of how Cormack would react. As it turned out, she didn't react at all. He was forced to continue without any idea of how his words were being received. "I don't know why you fell off the wagon, but I figure it must have been something pretty bad."

"You could say that," Stephanie said softly. She looked down at her hands, surprised to discover they were clenched so tightly together that her knuckles were white. She forced herself to release her grip and placed her open palms on her bent knees.

Trip watched in fascination, wondering what emotion was causing her tension. _She's probably trying to keep from punching you,_ his mind told him. _Just like Cutler was._

In fact, Stephanie was trying to keep her hands from shaking. She looked up and over at the tall engineer, hazel eyes meeting blue with the fierce intensity of a cornered animal. "Was there something you wanted to say to me, sir?"

"Malcolm thinks it was his fault. Well," he amended, "at least partly his fault."

Now Cormack was even more on the defensive. She naturally assumed Tucker was here to accuse her of blaming Reed for her own mistakes. "Did he tell you that?"

Tucker shook his head. "Not in so many words, but yeah. Said he should've noticed something was up."

"He told me the same thing this morning." She wanted to make certain there was no misunderstanding over what she said next. She looked directly into Tucker's eyes and continued. "I told him he was wrong. It's my own damn fault."

"Maybe, maybe not." Tucker shrugged. "You never know what might send you over the edge. You can't predict it."

Cormack looked at him quizzically, taken aback by his unexpectedly sympathetic reply. "You sound like you're talking from personal experience."

Trip shrugged again. "Not me personally, but I've seen it happen. Big family like mine, there are bound to be someproblems."

"I get it. You don't have to tell me anything."

"Yeah I do." He looked at her solemnly. "I have to tell you I'm sorry."

It was the last thing she'd expected. For a moment she couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly. "Sir?"

"Trip," he corrected. "We're off duty. Call me Trip."

"Uhh" The ensign was completely stymied.

"I've been a jerk to you, and you didn't deserve it. You didn't do anything; it's my own hang up and I need to get over it."

"But what _is_ it?" Stephanie exclaimed, her whirling mind finding something solid to grasp. "If I didn't do anything to piss you off, then what the hell is the problem?"

Trip knew it would come to this. He'd resigned himself to it when he'd decided to come talk to her. He was ready to look like an idiot. "I thought you wereinterested in Malcolm." Stephanie's eyes widened in shock. He continued before she could protest. "Andyou'remy type."

Now Stephanie's brows furrowed. She tried to make his words make sense, but she couldn't quite manage it. Eventually, she gave up. "What?"

"You're my type," he repeated, blushing with embarrassment.

"I'm No. _Malcolm_'s your type. What drug are you on?"

Tucker let his head fall, stared into his lap before replying. "Natalie was a blonde. Curly hair, too. Cute and little, like you."

"I am _not_ 'little'," Cormack said firmly.

"You'd rather I call you short?" countered Tucker, meeting her gaze once more.

The two glared at each for a moment. Abruptly, both burst out laughing. When they began to calm down, Stephanie asked, "Who the hell is Natalie?"

"My last ex," explained Trip.

"And I look like her?" She was still a bit bewildered.

"Not really. You just fit the same description, you know what I mean?" Cormack nodded. "Same as my first real girlfriend, too." Now he looked at her slyly. "_Short_ and blonde. Only neither of them had your color eyes."

"You've hardly looked me in the eye in six months. I can't believe you know what color they are."

"I don't," he admitted. "I just know they're not blue."

"I'm still confused. But before we go any further on this bizarre topic, let me assure you I have no designs on Malcolm," Stephanie said distinctly. "Or you for that matter," she added with a smirk. "I don't really go for blond men."

Trip was about to demand to know what was wrong with blond men when he stopped himself. He realized from her mischievous smile that she was baiting him. The sudden insight made him feel surprisingly good. _That's the way friends tease each other,_ he thought. 

Her next words made him uncertain again, however. "I also know," Cormack continued firmly, "that _you_ have no designs on _me_. Right?"

"Right!" he answered reassuringly, then wondered which of the two of them needed the reassurance more.

"Because if you did, I'd be forced to kick your ass from here to the Klingon homeworld."

"Excuse me, _Ensign_?" He was pretty damn sure she was serious in her threat.

"You heard me, _Commander_. I know you're not interested in me or any other short blonde chicks aboard this ship or anywhere else. Because that would be wrong."

Her meaning was clear. If he hurt Malcolm, she would hurt him—in a way that would likely require treatment from Doctor Phlox. He had no doubt she could and would follow through on her threat should he give her cause. "You'd risk your rank, your _career_, to protect Malcolm," he said in quiet realization.

"Yes, sir."

_So the protective streak runs both ways,_ thought Tucker. _That's good._ He smiled, surprising Cormack. Trip chuckled at her obvious bewilderment at his reaction. He decided to let her keep wondering. "So," he said finally, "we're good?"

"You tell me. It was never my idea to be un-good."

"Fair enough." He nodded. "From now on, no more acting like a jerk." He held out his right hand. "Friends?"

Cormack took it and shook it firmly. "Friends." She held on tight when he tried to let go, forced him to meet her gaze. "They're hazel, and I am by no definition 'cute'. Got it?"

Tucker laughed out loud. "Got it," he confirmed. She let him go and he sat back. "I should get going. Malcolm's expecting me." He stood.

"Have fun." Her implication was obvious in her tone of voice.

"We're watching a movie," Tucker protested for no reason he could logically fathom.

"What movie?"

"I don't know."

She gave him a knowing smile. "Yeah. You enjoy that 'movie'."

Again Trip blushed. "You're" He searched for right word.

"Evil?" offered Stephanie.

"I wasn't gonna go that far."

"You're too kind."

Tucker shook his head. "You really aren't mad at me, are you?" At her curious expression, he explained. "For treating you so badly for so long, I mean."

"You're done with that, right?" Trip nodded. "We know where we both stand on the Malcolm issue, right?" He nodded again. "Then no, I'm not mad at you. It takes way too much energy to hold a grudge. You apologized; I accept the apology. We're cool."

"Just like that?"

"Did you _want_ me to be mad at you?"

Trip hesitated. "It'd make me feel a little better, yeah."

"Well" Stephanie shrugged and gave him a bitter-sweet smile. "Tough."

"Okay. Do me one favor, though."

"Shoot."

"Tell your friends."

"Tell my friends?"

"Yeah. Tell Mae and Liz. Tell anyone who might want to know that you and I are okay. Okay?"

"Okay. Why?"

"'Cause Liz looked like she wanted deck me when she left here, and MaeI'm pretty sure Mae's not real happy with me either." He paused, taking in her surprised expression. "Your friends really look out for you, you know? Even when you're not around to see it."

Stephanie blinked rapidly, fighting back unexpected tears. She swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat, and took a deep breath. "I didn't Thank you, Commander."

"Trip," he reminded her gently. He noticed the sudden brightness to her eyes and guessed at its cause.

"Trip," Stephanie repeated. "Thanks."

He simply nodded, a small, sympathetic smile on his lips. "See you 'round," he said, and departed.

Cormack sat unmoving for several seconds, his words still echoing in her head. "Damn," she whispered. She sniffed as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

*****

Mae glanced up from the datapad she was reading. "Hey, roomie," she said to her newly returned bunkmate.

"Hey," replied Bonnie glumly. She sat on her bed and listlessly pulled of her boots.

"Everything okay? You have a rough shift or something?" Mae put an electronic marker where she'd left off reading and set the pad on the floor next to her bunk.

"No. It was pretty dull, but not rough." Bonnie rose and began to undress. "How come you're still up?" she asked, hoping to get the subject off of herself.

"Couldn't put my book down."

Fraser glanced at the discarded datapad. "Doesn't look like you had any trouble with that to me," she said. She decided her coveralls were good for another day of wear and hung them in her locker. She pulled off her black shirt and her socks, chucking them unceremoniously down the laundry chute.

"What's wrong?" persisted Lawless. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs under her blanket.

"Nothing." 

"Bullshit."

Bonnie gave her friend a weary, frustrated look. "I had a fight with Stephanie this morning, okay? Happy now?" She took off her blues, trading them for silky green pajamas.

"You what? What happened?" Now Mae was all ears.

"I told you, I had a fight with Stephanie." She wandered into the lav and began to brush her teeth. Mae was out of bed and right behind her. The engineer stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

"What did you fight about?"

Her mouth full of toothpaste and a look of annoyance on her face, Bonnie just cocked her head at Mae.

"I can wait." This just got Mae a more annoyed glare, which she returned with a blithe smile.

Bonnie finished cleaning her teeth and began to wash her face. Mae waited.

Her evening ablutions complete, Bonnie scowled at her friend until Mae stepped aside, allowing her out of the lav and back into their cabin.

"So?" the engineer persisted.

"So, what?" Bonnie shut off the main cabin light, leaving only the glow of Mae's bedside light. "You know me: red-head, temper. I got mad. I told her to leave." She climbed into her bunk.

Mae was in shock. "You told her to leave? You were supposed to stay with her until I could be there! That explains why you weren't around when Liz and I found her at lunch."

"Well she didn't want me around, okay?" snapped the helmsman angrily.

"Sounds like it was the other way around," countered Mae. "You said you told her to leave."

Bonnie rolled onto one side, propping herself up on her elbow and glaring at her friend. "Yeah, after she made it abundantly clear that she didn't need or want a 'keeper'. Think about it. Just how thrilled was she when you and Liz descended on her like a pair of vultures?"

"We didn't—" Mae started to protest. She sat heavily on the edge of her bunk. "Okay, we did."

"She's an adult. She can take care of herself."

"I know. But she's our friend. We're supposed to watch out for her."

"That doesn't mean we should watch her twenty-four hours a day. It doesn't matter, anyway," continued the red-head, shifting onto her back and staring at the ceiling. For the first time ever, the narrow bunk felt too big, empty. She missed the cozy feeling of Stephanie beside her.

Mae noticed the change in her bunkmate's tone. "It'll be okay. Just talk to her."

"I can't. Not now."

"Yes, you can. If I know Stephanie, she's over the fight by now. She doesn't stay mad very long—kind of like you," she added.

"Maybe." It was clear Bonnie didn't really believe her.

"Trust me. Just apologize, and you can both forget it ever happened."

It was the wrong thing to say. Bonnie looked over at her sharply. She sat up again, leaning on one hand. "Apologize? I don't think so. It wasn't my idea to start the fight."

"It doesn't matter who started the fight! The important part is who starts the reconciliation."

"Hm," grunted Bonnie. She hated to admit it, but the engineer was right. "We'll see. She probably won't even give me a chance to apologize, anyway."

"Just try. It can't make matters worse, right?"

"I suppose not," the helmsman grudgingly agreed. She lay down once more. 

Mae climbed back under the covers of her own bunk. "Ready for me to shut off the light?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good night," said Mae. She turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness.

"Good night," replied Bonnie flatly.

It wasn't long before Mae was asleep. Bonnie continued to lie awake, staring out the sliver of the port she could see from her bunk.

*****

The door to Malcolm's cabin slipped open. Trip stepped inside, but his lover was nowhere to be seen. "Malcolm?" he called as the door closed automatically behind him.

"Right here," the tactical officer replied, emerging from the lav. He was already dressed in loose pajama-bottoms and a t-shirt. "How was your errand?"

"Good. Real good."

"I'm glad to hear it." Malcolm was still intensely curious as to what it had been, but he didn't pry. Trip would tell him when he was ready to tell him.

"You look comfy," said Trip, nodding at Malcolm's outfit.

"I am. You should change, too. The movie's a long one; you'll want to get comfortable."

"I'll just run to my quarters and change. I won't be five minutes." Tucker turned to go, but Reed stopped him.

"There's no need."

"Huh?"

Malcolm gestured with his head toward the bank of drawers next to the closet. "Open the second one down."

Tucker had an idea what he would find, but he didn't say a thing as he stepped to the dresser and opened the second drawer. Inside were pajamas, a couple of t-shirts, one of the soft black shirts they all wore under their Starfleet coveralls, two pairs of socks, and several sets of his preferred style of regulation skivvies.

"There's a uniform and extra boots in the closet," Reed said, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I hope you don't mind, but after the debacle with Captain Archer I thought it might be a good idea to be prepared" He trailed off as he took in the wide grin that had spread across Trip's handsome face.

"It's great, Malcolm," Tucker said with all sincerity. "It means a lot to me." He slid the drawer shut and opened the closet. As promised, there was a clean uniform for him hanging at the opposite end of the bar from Malcolm's and a spare pair of boots just below it. "Good idea," he said, noting the distance. "Wouldn't want to get them mixed up."

"Quite. You're not that much taller than I am, but enough that I don't think either of us would find the confusioncomfortable. On a number of levels," he added wryly.

"No." Trip closed the closet. He turned to his partner, took Malcolm's hands in his own. "Thank you. It really means a lot that you let me in like this."

Malcolm shrugged noncommittally, trying to pretend it wasn't the big deal that it was. It had been a hard decision for him to make, to take this seemingly small step. Trip knew it, and he appreciated what it meant to his partner; as a result, it meant a great deal to the engineer, too.

"Thank you," Trip said again and kissed Malcolm sweetly. "Tomorrow, we can do the same for you at my place, if you want to."

Reed nodded almost shyly. "I'd like that."

"Then we'll do it." They smiled at one another for a moment. Trip was momentarily lost in the blue of his lover's eyes. He shook himself back to reality. "Hey, what about that movie you promised me?"

"Put on your pajamas, and I'll call it up."

"What is it, anyway?" Trip asked, pulling a pair of pants and a t-shirt from his drawer. He tossed them onto the bunk and began to undress.

"_The Right Stuff_," replied Malcolm from the computer. "Have you seen it?"

"Nope." Tucker pulled off his boots and set them neatly to one side, then unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them. He made sure the pockets were empty and he removed the rank insignia from the shoulder before tossing the uniform down the laundry chute. Next, he took off his black shirt and his socks, sending both after the uniform. He glanced up to see Malcolm watching him appreciatively from across the room. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Nothing at all. Just enjoying the pre-show entertainment," quipped Malcolm.

"That so?"

"It is."

Trip made a show of slowly removing his bright blue undershirt and tossing it down the laundry chute. Malcolm raised an expectant eyebrow, and the engineer slipped out of his underwear, spinning them on one finger before getting rid of them with the rest of his clothes.

"Mm-mm!" grunted Malcolm with delight. "Awfully nice."

"You've got good taste," quipped Tucker with a sly grin. "But you promised me a movie." He pulled on his pajama pants and t-shirt, much to Malcolm's disappointment.

"The movie can wait" the tactical officer suggested.

"Nope. I've been looking forward to it since you mentioned it."

"You didn't even know what it was until two minutes ago."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't looking forward to it anyway." Tucker crossed the cabin and put his hands on Malcolm's shoulders. "Do you know how much I love you?"

Malcolm was a bit surprised at the non-sequitur, but he didn't mind the abrupt change in subject. "I've heard rumors," he replied slyly and gave his lover a cocky smile.

"Oh you have, huh?" Trip smirked back at him.

"Mm-hmm."

"What've ya heard?"

"All sorts of things." Malcolm reached out a hand and rested it lightly on Tucker's chest, feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"Yeah? Bet I know one you haven't heard."

"Is that so?" The hand trailed down to the waistband of Trip's pants, slipping just underneath it and traveling around behind the engineer.

"Yep." Trip had a hard time focusing. Malcolm's wandering hand massaged his buttock, and he could feel himself growing hard in response to the touch.

"What is it, then?"

"I" _Focus, Trip!_ he ordered himself. "Italked to Stephanie tonight."

Malcolm stopped kneading, shocked and a little uncertain. "You did?"

"Uh-huh." Trip missed the strong caress but was grateful for the pause because it allowed him a moment to collect his thoughts. "I apologized."

"You did?" Reed said again. "And what did she say?"

"She said it was okay."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "She did?"

"Yeah," Trip assured him. "She said it took too much energy to hold a grudge. You know," he continued, assessing his own feelings on the matter, "I think she's right. I feel a whole lot better than I did before."

"Oh, do you? Are you sure that doesn't have anything to do with this?" Malcolm squeezed Trip's bum enticingly.

"That's definitely having an effect, I'll admit," Tucker joked. "C'mere, you." He pulled Malcolm the last few centimeters to him and kissed him soundly. They stood with their arms wrapped comfortably around one another for several moments before Trip spoke up once more. "Do you know how much I love you?" he murmured again into his lover's soft, dark hair.

"Yes," answered Reed with quiet joy. "I believe I do."

*****

End Log 2:13  
_Completed 3 Feb 03_

Continued in Log 2:14


	14. Log 2:14

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

*****

_For Divine Raquel_

*****

**Log 2:14**: (Takes place immediately following Log 2:13 and during and following _Dawn_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Sato stood on the upper level of the armory and looked around. "Lieutenant?" she called uncertainly. She spotted her objective by the starboard torpedo tube and quickly descended the stairs to join him there.

"What can I do for you, Ensign?" Reed replied, looking up from the datapad in his hand. It was early, and they were the only occupants of the armory.

"You placed a note in the comm files," Sato began. "Ensign Cormack received a communication from Earth in the mail download overnight." She wasn't sure why he'd requested this information, but curious as she was, she didn't feel she was in a position to ask.

"Thank you. Has it been routed to her yet?"

"No, sir. I was going to do the distribution first thing once I got to the bridge. I was just checking the comm logs before breakfast and noticed that it had come through, so I thought I'd let you know."

Malcolm looked at her, a ghost of a dry smile tweaking the corner of his lips. "You were just passing by, is that it?"

Hoshi shrugged, knowing she'd been caught; there was nowhere for her to go on F-deck but the armory. "It wasan unusual request, sir. I Never mind."

"No. Go on. It's all right." He waited patiently.

"I know something happened with her family. I don't know what. Do you knowif everything is okay?" Her concern and compassion were apparent in her dark brown eyes.

"I don't know. Nor does Stephanie."

Now Sato understood. The newly arrived message likely held the answer to her question. "Should I" She was hesitant to suggest it. "Should I delay the transmission, sir?"

"I have another idea," Reed said. He'd thought long and hard about what he would do when Cormack's family contacted her. "If you have no objection, I'd like to deliver it myself. You do occasionally hand-deliver datacards with people's correspondence, if I'm not mistaken."

"Sometimes."

"Then perhaps you'd allow me to deliver this one?" Noticing her hesitancy at this bending of protocol, he added reassuringly, "I won't read it. I simply don't think Stephanie should be alone when _she_ reads it. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. Will you be on bridge duty this morning?"

"Yes."

"I'll have the datacard for you when you get there."

"Thank you, Hoshi."

Sato nodded. Before she turned to go, she asked, "Will you let me know if there's anything I can do?"

"Of course."

*****

T'Pol glanced up, the scanner she'd been studying retracting silently into her console. "Captain," she said. "I believe I have located a suitable place to test the auto-pilot upgrades Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather made to Shuttlepod One."

"Excellent," replied Archer. "Let's see it."

The science officer transferred the data she'd collected to the bridge's main viewer. A schematic of a solar system appeared. T'Pol adjusted the angle and magnification to zoom in on the system's largest planet. When she had the desired view, she said, "It's a Class B gas giant with numerous satellites. The variations in gravitational force should be more than adequate to test the new systems."

"Any sign of life on those moons?"

"Initial sensor readings show nothing that might suggest a center of habitation, although scans are not complete."

"I'm not picking up any ships in the vicinity, Captain," put in Reed from the tactical station.

"Sounds like it should do the job nicely. What's our ETA, Travis?" Archer asked his helmsman.

"At our present speed, twenty-six minutes, sir," Mayweather replied.

"I'll let Trip know we've found him a playground." The captain rose from his chair and headed for the turbolift. He felt like a walk, and he liked delivering good news in person. "You have the bridge, Sub-commander," he said as he passed T'Pol.

Archer descended to E-deck and headed for Main Engineering. When he reached it, it only took a moment to find the Chief Engineer. Tucker was at the main control for the warp engine. 

"Time to test those auto-pilot upgrades, Trip," the Captain announced, climbing the short flight of steps to Tucker's position.

"Yeah?" answered Trip. He turned to the captain, a grin on his face. He was excited to see how well the new equipment worked—and it didn't hurt that he'd be stretching his legs, as it were. It also meant Jon still trusted him with a shuttlepod. After Trip and Malcolm's little adventure the previous month, Tucker had been worried his old friend would never let him fly one again.

"Yeah. You think you can handle it without a real pilot along?"

Tucker was about to protest that he was a perfectly good pilot when he saw the smirk on Jon's face. "You almost got me," he admitted, chuckling.

"Go prep the shuttlepod. We'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir!" Archer descended to the main level while Tucker took a moment to scan Engineering with his eyes. "Hess!" he called to his second in command. "Take over here."

"Aye, sir," the lieutenant replied. She climbed up and replaced Trip at the control panel where he'd been monitoring plasma levels.

Tucker and Archer left Engineering and walked to the launch bay.

"Are you sure you don't want some backup?" the captain asked, more seriously this time.

"Nah. It's a straightforward test flight. I can handle it," Trip assured him.

"All right. I'll give you a hand with the prep."

*****

The bridge was quiet in Archer's absence. There was little for most of the bridge crew to do beyond monitoring _Enterprise_'s progress toward the system. Absently, Reed glanced at the promised datacard Sato had handed him when he'd arrived that morning. He'd set it on his console when he'd sat down. Now he unobtrusively tucked the card into his sleeve pocket and zipped it in. He would deliver it to Cormack as soon as possible. If all went well, that would be mid-day; he could catch her at lunch. It wasn't an ideal situation, but at least that way she would get it earlier than if it were routed to her quarters directly. Were that the case, she wouldn't see it until she was off duty. He had the sudden thought that it might be better to wait. He decided against it. Better to know sooner than later, and if it was bad news, he had the authority to grant her the rest of the afternoon off so she could take a little time to deal with it.

He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but if that was the way it had to be, he would accept it. Better Stephanie have a friend with her however things turned out. He wanted to believe everything would be all right, that the message from home contained good news. But it simply wasn't in his nature.

_Yes,_ he thought resignedly. _Lunchtime would be best._

*****

"Captain, sensors are picking up a vessel approaching the shuttlepod," announced Reed from Tactical.

"Can you identify it?" Archer asked, turning in his chair to look at him.

The lieutenant's hands danced over the control panel, seeking the requested information, but he shook his head. "No. There's too much interference to get a clear image."

Archer turned next to his left and said to Sato, "Get me Tucker." The comm officer gave him a sharp nod when the line was open. "Archer to Shuttlepod One."

"Captain?" was Tucker's staticky reply.

"You're about to have some company, Trip. Sensors are picking up a small vessel approaching your position."

Trip's voice came back to him distorted and unclear. "Saygain, Cap—? I'm picklot ference."

Sato worked to tighten the signal and clean up the transmission.

"There's a small vessel approaching your position," Archer repeated deliberately. "We haven't been able to identify it yet."

"It's no good, Captain," said Sato regretfully. "I've lost contact. The interference is too great."

"Can we hail the other ship?"

"We can try." 

Archer couldn't mistake the tone of doubt in her voice. Sato obviously thought the possible success of this option was minimal. "Never mind," he said. "Try the shuttlepod again."

"Aye, sir." She once again focused on her equipment, sharp ears trained for any reply from the commander. "_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One. Commander, please respond." She waited. Her voice was calm and firm, but her heart was pounding. "_Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One. Commander Tucker, do you read me?"

Leaving her to her task, Archer turned once more to his tactical officer. "Malcolm?"

"I detected weapons fire, and then both shipsjust disappeared," Reed said, fighting to keep the catch from his voice. He was only marginally successful.

"Last known position?"

His heart in the pit of his stomach, Malcolm replied evenly, "Approximately 50,000 kilometers, bearing zero-zero-threemark-two-seven, I think." At Archer's frustrated expression, he added, "I can't be more specific. It's the damned interference." It was less an excuse and more a sharing of the captain's irritation.

T'Pol spoke up. She finally had information she believed was useful. "Many of these moons have atmospheres containing selenium isotopes. That's most likely what's affecting our sensors."

"Trip's a good pilot," said Archer almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the fact. "If he was near one of those moons he most likely set down on it." He glanced back at T'Pol. "How many are there?"

Her reply was far from encouraging. "Sixty-two."

"Then we'd better start looking." With a resigned sigh, the captain turned to Mayweather. "Travis," he said. He didn't need to say more; the alert helmsman understood immediately.

"Aye, sir," Mayweather replied and input a course that would take them to Tucker's last known location.

"We'll search every moon," continued the captain, taking his seat, "even if we have to do it with binoculars." He looked over at Sato. "Keep hailing him."

"Aye, sir," she answered.

Without needing any prompting, Reed continued trying to scan through the interference. It was a long shot at best, but he couldn't simply sit there doing nothing until they reached their destination.

*****

Five moons later there was still no sign of Commander Tucker. Malcolm's anxiety had increased exponentially with each one. Even the assistance of the Arkonians wasn't enough to bolster his mood. The antagonistic aliens had appeared shortly after _Enterprise_ had lost contact with Tucker. They were openly hostile and freely admitted the ship that had attacked Trip was theirs. However, they had agreed to help search the numerous satellites for the engineer and their own missing man. So far neither vessel had had any luck. 

T'Pol emerged from the captain's ready room. She'd gone in to update him on their lack of progress. Her facial expression told Reed nothing about how the meeting had gone, but that didn't surprise the tactical officer. He had the passing thought that with such a good poker face she would have made an excellent security officer, had she chosen that route over the Vulcan Science Directorate.

The sub-commander crossed the bridge and sat at her station. "Time to our next destination?" she asked Mayweather.

"Seventeen minutes," he informed her.

The Vulcan nodded and returned to her scanners. She hadn't isolated her scans to the moons' surfaces and had found some disturbing evidence she wished to verify as soon as possible.

_Seventeen minutes when nothing can be accomplished,_ thought Reed in frustration. He tried to relax a little, take a moment to put things in perspective. Out of the thirty-one moons they'd agreed to search, they had twenty-six to go. Presumably the Arkonians were making similar progress. With ten moons down, that was roughly seventeen percent of their search complete. He paused. As perspectives went it wasn't a comforting one.

Malcolm fought back a discouraged sigh. They would find Trip. He was alive, and they would rescue him. There was simply no acceptable alternative.

_I'm not losing you, Trip,_ Malcolm thought with fierce certainty. _I won't let that happen._ Anxiously, he checked the time. Only ninety seconds had passed since Mayweather had announced their ETA. _Damn._

*****

Lawless popped into the mess for a quick snack. She needed a respite from the monotony of engineering, so when her break time came, she took it. Engineering was in a holding pattern. They were monitoring systems, but everything was running smoothly. There was little they could do to assist in the search for their missing chief and they were all stressed. It made for a very tense working environment.

Mae picked an apple from a bowl of fruit and got a glass of water. It wasn't much, but she was less hungry than bored. Worried as she was about her C.O., she knew it was completely out of her control. She didn't like it, but she accepted it—and she went looking for something to eat.

She was on her way out the door with her snack when she ran into her bunkmate. "Hey, Bonnie. How's it going?" she asked, coming back into the mess hall with the helmsman.

"Hey," replied the helmsman. "S'okay. Stellar Cartography's hopping this morning, what with all the moons we're looking at."

Mae followed her as Bonnie collected a mug and ordered up Earl Grey tea. "I'll bet. Personally, I'd rather just find what we're looking for and get the hell out of here."

"Yeah."

Fraser's uncharacteristic ennui struck Lawless. "You haven't talked to Stephanie, have you," she said, already knowing she was right.

"Yeah and I could have done that exactly when?" replied Bonnie defensively. She claimed her filled mug and held it in both hands.

"Breakfast?"

"Didn't have any."

"You're avoiding her."

"One meal doesn't mean I'm avoiding her!" But her protest was too vehement, and Mae saw straight through it. 

"Meet me for lunch?" the engineer suggested.

Bonnie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're having lunch with her."

"Maybe. Depends on what happens the rest of the morning. Maybe the Arkonians will get fed up and start shooting at us. Then neither of us will be free for lunch."

"Funny."

"Talk to her."

"There's nothing to say." Fraser brushed past Lawless and headed to the door. Mae had to hurry to catch her as she strode purposefully down the corridor.

"There's plenty to say!"

"Like?"

"Like, 'I'm sorry we fought.' Likelike" Mae was fishing.

"Told you." They reached a turbolift and Bonnie hailed it. The door opened immediately, and she stepped inside. "See ya," she said as the door slid shut, leaving Mae thwarted and alone.

"God damn it!" the engineer swore. She looked down at the apple and glass of water, both untasted, which she still held. Suddenly she'd lost her appetite.

*****

Reed listened with growing distress to T'Pol's announcement. Her conversation with the captain wasn't meant to include anyone else, but neither did they speak in a way that was intended to exclude the rest of the bridge crew. Consequently, he listened very carefully to what they said.

"It's a thermo-kinetic analysis of the moons," the sub-commander informed Archer. "Each of them undergoes extreme temperature variations during their orbits."

"Go on." Archer looked into the scanner where her diagram of the moons' orbits was running.

"At night it can drop to five or even ten degrees below zero."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Archer said, unknowingly echoing Reed's thoughts as he listened in across the bridge.

"During the day the temperature can rise to as high as one-hundred and seventy degrees."

The captain stiffened at her words as a lancet of fear for his missing friend struck his spine. He ceased his examination of the data she'd collected and stood up straight, looking his science officer in the eye. "We'd better hope Trip landed on the night side."

"And that we find him before the sun rises," T'Pol added.

"I'll be in my ready room." Archer crossed the bridge toward his office.

"Captain," said Reed as he passed. "May I speak with you?"

Archer paused only a moment before nodding. "Come on in," he replied.

Reed rose and followed him into the ready room.

When the door had shut, Archer sat behind his desk. "Have a seat," he said.

Malcolm had had enough sitting for one day. He was restless, and more inactivity would only increase his disquiet. "I prefer to stand."

The captain eyed him curiously but didn't argue. The lieutenant's tension was obvious in his face, in his stance, and even in the way his arms hung at his sides. Archer knew what caused it but asked anyway, "What's on your mind?"

"Commander Tucker," answered Reed, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"He's on all our minds, Malcolm, and we're doing everything we can to find him."

"I was thinking, sir, that if I took Shuttlepod Two we could expand our search—increase our chances of finding him before dawn."

Archer was unsurprised to learn that his tactical officer had overheard his conversation with T'Pol. "The shuttlepod's scanners don't have the range of _Enterprise_'s."

"No, but I believe we could jerry-rig a booster that would temporarily improve their range. It wouldn't be pretty, but in a pinch I believe it would work."

"You figured that out based on your vast engineering expertise?"

Malcolm's jaw clenched. It took him a moment to realize the captain wasn't trying to disparage him, only play devil's advocate. "Sir, I have given this a lot of thought."

"I'm sure you have, Malcolm." Archer rose and came back around to the front of his desk; the formality he'd adopted when they entered the ready room no longer felt appropriate to him. He leaned against the desk, the heels of his hands resting on its top to either side of his hips. Malcolm was struck by the memory of a day over a year ago when Trip had stood there in exactly the same position. The similarity was almost eerie. Then he thought how the two men had been friends for a long time, and it made sense that they would have picked up some similarities of habit.

The tactical officer waited in silence while the captain considered his proposal. Reed didn't think his heart could sink any lower, but when Archer finally shook his head, he realized he was wrong. Malcolm's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. "Sir—" he began to protest.

"I won't risk losing anyone else," said Archer firmly.

"We only lost him because he was shot down," Reed argued.

"You don't know that. With all the interference in this region, we don't even know if the shots the Arkonian fired hit the shuttlepod."

"You heard the Arkonian captain. 'If your shuttle did encounter my patrol ship, your crewman is already dead,' he said. He was pretty damn confident that his man took down our pod." Malcolm's voice grew angrier with every word.

"If you believe that then you must believe Trip is already dead. And if that's the case, taking out another pod isn't going to do him any good," snapped Archer.

Reed froze. Archer saw a flash of fury cross his face before he clamped down on it and his standard mask of stoicism reappeared. The captain sighed wearily, cursing himself for losing his temper. He knew he'd gone past the point of devil's advocate, and that wasn't what he'd wanted to do.

"Malcolm," he said as calmly and reassuringly as he could manage. "I believe Trip is alive, and I know you believe it, too. But I won't risk sending a shuttle out looking for him. The risk to return ratio is just too great, and I honestly don't believe it would help. There are too many moons too far apart to make searching with a shuttlepod efficient." The captain paused. He had a moment of ironic surprise as he realized he sounded a lot like his Vulcan science officer just then. He shook his head at himself, and looked Reed in the eye. "We'll find him, Malcolm."

Reed wanted desperately to believe him. This was the Captain, Trip's best friend. He'd gotten all of them out of enough seemingly hopeless situations in the past year and a half that he had more than earned Malcolm's trust. If he said they would find Tucker, Malcolm had to believe they would. "Yes, sir," he said stiffly, unconvinced despite all his reasoning.

"Why don't you take a break?" Archer suggested. It was clear the stress was wearing on the younger man. "We've all been at it for hours, and everyone's had at least a few minutes to stretch their legs but you and T'Pol."

"No thank you, sir. I'd rather remain at my post."

"Ten minutes, Malcolm," countered the captain firmly. "You can spare ten minutes. We won't reach the next moon for another twelve, so you won't be missing out on anything."

Still Reed tried to protest. "Sir—"

"Take a break. That's an order. Leave the bridge, and don't come back for ten minutes."

It was clear to Reed that Archer wouldn't be swayed this time. The lieutenant hated it, but he nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." As Reed turned to go, the captain added, "And get something to eat."

Malcolm nodded and left the ready room. He crossed the bridge in silence until he reached the turbolift. There he stopped and looked at T'Pol. "I'll be back in ten minutes, Sub-commander," he informed her flatly.

Her only reply was a nod before he stepped into the lift and was whisked away.

*****

The mess hall was deserted, which was fine by Malcolm. He didn't care to talk to anyone at that moment. He approached the case where the lunch leftovers were and peered into it apathetically. Although he'd eaten nothing since breakfast that morning, he wasn't hungry. He was too worried about Trip to think about food. But the captain had ordered him to eat.

_Technically,_ he told himself, _he only ordered you to take a break. The eating was an afterthought._ He was rationalizing and he knew it. Begrudgingly, he chose a small salad from the case and took it to a table. He picked at it with his fork, actually managing to swallow a half-dozen bites before giving up in disgust.

He checked the time impatiently. Barely five minutes since he'd left the bridge. "Damn," he muttered. _Five minutes down, five to go._ It wasn't long enough to accomplish anything, yet it was an interminable length of time to wait before he could return to his post. He couldn't bring himself to spend that time simply sitting there waiting.

Determinedly, he stood. Maybe a brisk walk around the ship would burn off some of his nervous energy, and at the very least it was something to do while time dragged past.

*****

"Could this day be any longer?" muttered Cormack under her breath.

"Ma'am?" asked crewman Griffith, who was standing nearby monitoring the ship's defensive systems just in case the Arkonians decided to stop being helpful.

"Nothing," Cormack said, but she continued anyway. "You ever have one of those weeks? The kind where time seems to be running in slow motion and nothing you do makes it any better?"

The crewman considered her question. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'm having one of those weeks."

"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am."

Cormack gave him a wan smile. "Thanks, Ewan. I appreciate that."

*****

Malcolm's relief at the sound of Trip's voice was tempered by the exhaustion he could hear in it. They'd found him just in time. The sun was rising over the moon where he'd crash-landed.

When Archer turned to Reed and ordered him to prepare the transporter, Reed reacted quickly. Unfortunately, Doctor Phlox was quicker. Only two steps away from his post, Malcolm froze as the doctor gave his prognosis should _Enterprise_ transport the alien with Tucker. Reed tuned out all the medical jargon, but he heard what he considered the only important information.

"Transporting him will most likely be fatal," Phlox said.

Even then Reed didn't see a problem. He could transport Trip and deal with the Arkonian later—or better yet, let his own people deal with him. Despite the fact that they'd helped find the missing men, Malcolm couldn't forget that neither would have needed finding if only the Arkonian scout hadn't fired on Tucker in the first place.

Apparently Archer had similar ideas. "Archer to Commander Tucker."

"I'm still here, Captain." Trip's voice sounded even weaker than it had less than a minute before. Malcolm felt his gut clench in anxiety, his heart beating faster with his impatience to have the engineer safely back where he belonged.

Quickly, the captain gave Trip the run-down of their dilemma. They could get him out, but they couldn't transport the Arkonian. "We'll try to find a way to get him back to his ship. In the meantime, I'm getting you out of there."

"No way, Captain. I'm not leaving him here."

Archer let out a frustrated sigh that was echoed by Reed. Only Phlox, standing immediately next to the lieutenant, noticed his reaction. Had the circumstances not been so dire, he would have been amused. Clearly Commander Tucker would be in trouble with both men when he returned.

"The temperature is rising quickly, Commander," put in T'Pol. "I estimate it will reach one-hundred and thirty degrees within the next hour."

"Let's get you home," Archer said. "Then we can worry about your friend."

Trip's voice carried more strength as he replied resolutely, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that. Maybe there's another way."

Everyone on the bridge of _Enterprise_ listened intently as Tucker outlined his plan. It wouldn't work on a shuttlepod, but he believed an Arkonian craft like the one that had shot him down could be modified to filter out the selenium isotopes that had played havoc not only with sensors, but with the engines of both little ships.

Reed was doubtful, as was Archer. However, the captain had learned to trust Tucker's instincts where engineering was concerned. It was part of why he'd wanted him as his Chief Engineer. He gave a resigned sigh. "We'll talk to them, but I won't let you stay down there much longer."

"Understood," said Tucker.

"Archer out."

The transmission had barely closed when Malcolm spoke up indignantly. "Sir!"

"Later, Malcolm." Archer looked over at Sato. "Hail Khata'n Zshaar," he ordered. In seconds, the alien captain appeared on the viewscreen. "Captain, we've spoken to our engineer, and he has an idea."

*****

Tucker lay on his back, staring up at the increasingly bright sky. He thought about everything he'd done in the time he'd been with _Enterprise_. He listed things out loud, more to hear himself speak and remind himself he was still alive than because he thought his companion would understand. He didn't even know with any certainty whether or not the Arkonian beside him was still breathing.

"Hell of a ride, though" he murmured weakly. "Hell of a ride." He was fading and he could do nothing about it. His strength was gone. He was dehydrated and he felt as if at any moment the blood running through his body would boil, cooking him from the inside as surely as the heat was baking him from the outside. "Sorry, Cap'n," he breathed, barely above a whisper. "Sorry, Malcolm. I love you."

He shut his eyes against the rising sun. Then he opened them again, thoughts of his lover giving him the strength to hold on just a little bit longer. He'd worked too hard to give up now. He blinked sweat and dirt from his eyes, squinting into the sun. For a moment Trip wondered if he was hallucinating. The dark speck flying directly out of the blinding light could easily have been his imagination, or a mirage brought on by dehydration and the abusive heat. He pushed himself up to get a better look, forcing exhausted arms to hold him and aching eyes to focus on what he saw.

He reached out an arm and nudged his companion in the leg. "Zho'Kaan," he said with the little energy he had left. The Arkonian woke reluctantly. Trip pointed to the sky and spoke one of the dozen words he'd picked up from the alien. "_V'dhoze_." Ship.

*****

"Lieutenant!" called Lawless.

Reed paused to let the engineer catch up to him. "Ensign."

"Have you seen Commander Tucker yet, sir?" she asked, falling into step beside him as he resumed walking.

"Only briefly." He hid his annoyance at having been immediately ousted from sickbay before he could so much as speak to Trip. He'd been stalling ever since, trying to find something to occupy his time until he heard from Phlox. His shift had ended long before Tucker's rescue, and Archer had made it clear Malcolm was expected to remain off-duty until the next morning. So he'd gone for his second walk that day, once again hoping to burn off some off the tension he'd carried for so many hours.

"So he's okay, right?" continued Lawless.

"A bit worse for wear, but Doctor Phlox assured me he'll be fine."

"Right on." Mae smiled. "Lieutenant Hess and the rest of the team'll be glad to hear it. I'll let them know. Thanks, Lieutenant!" She immediately jogged off back in the direction from which she'd come, waving her thanks as she disappeared around a corner.

"Of course," muttered Reed to himself, "I would like to be able to see for myself." Still, Trip was safe, and that was what really mattered. The fact that Malcolm hadn't yet reunited with him was an annoyance that would pass in time. _It had better be a short time,_ he thought in irritation.

"Malcolm."

The voice was unmistakable despite the tired, raspy tone.

Malcolm turned, a smile cracking his grim visage. "Trip." Then he added admonishingly, "Phlox was supposed to hail me when he released you."

Trip shrugged. "I asked him not to. I wanted clean up before I saw you." He'd been in bad shape when he'd been brought aboard, and he knew the sight of him so battered and beaten would have caused his lover needless distress. Tucker had figured a little delay to wash and put on a fresh uniform would be worth it.

Malcolm approached the engineer and stood closely in front of him. Phlox had treated his injuries, but there was only so much the Denobulan could do about the split lip and black eye. Reed reached out a hand and cupped Trip's cheek, running a feather-light thumb over the bruise under the engineer's eye. "Your Arkonian friend give you that?" he asked, knowing it must be the case. "And this?" He moved his hand to trace the cut in Tucker's upper lip.

"Yeah. We had a minor disagreement," joked Trip, smiling with the uninjured half of his mouth.

"Apparently. I hope he looks equally abused."

"Probably not, but I was just going back to sickbay to see." Tucker enjoyed the closeness of his partner. He raised both hands, resting them on Malcolm's upper arms. He leaned in and gave the shorter man a soft kiss. "Wish it could be more," he murmured as their lips parted.

"There's time for more later," replied Malcolm with a gentle smile. Now that Trip was home safe, there was plenty of time for whatever they wanted to do. Which reminded Malcolm "Did you say you were on your way to sickbay?"

"Yeah. You want to come with me? I figured I should check up on Zho'Kaan, see if he's ready to go home." As he spoke, Tucker's fingers rubbed idly up and down Reed's arms. It felt good to have him so close again. One wandering hand felt something in Malcolm's sleeve pocket, and he paused. "What's that?"  


"Hmm?" Distracted by his partner's touch, it took Reed a moment to understand the question. "What's what?"

"In your pocket." As Malcolm's eyes widened in horror, Trip felt panic grip him. "What? What's wrong?"

"I completely forgot. I was so worried about you, I completely forgot!" he exclaimed in dismay. He stepped back from his partner and zipped open the pocket.

"What?" demanded Trip anxiously.

"It's a datacard," answered Malcolm, pulling the item out. "For Stephanie. From home."

Understanding dawned on the engineer. He'd finally learned the details about the events back on Earth from Malcolm the previous night. "Oh! Is her sister?"

"I don't know. I didn't look at the message," Reed said, slightly offended.

"No. No, of course not. You should go."

"I'm sorry." Malcolm was torn. All he wanted at that moment was to spend a quiet, private night with his lover. He'd been so anxious to see Trip, and now he had to rush off to deliver what could well be very upsetting news.

"It's okay."

"I just don't want her to be alone when she sees it."

"It's okay," Trip repeated firmly. "I'll still be here when you're done."

"Thank you. You're a love." Malcolm gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I know," the blond quipped, smirking. Then he added sincerely, "As long as I'm your love."

"You are," said Malcolm with a broad smile.

"Good. Now go on. Stephanie deserves to get her mail—whatever it turns out to say."

Malcolm kissed him once more. "You're right. I'm glad you're safe."

"Me, too. I hope Stephanie's sister's okay."

"Thanks. I'll let you know."

"Come find me when you're done?" asked Trip before Malcolm could disappear.

"I will," Reed assured him as he hurried off toward Cormack's cabin.

Tucker watched him until he turned a corner and went out of sight. He sighed. "It's good to be home."

Malcolm arrived at Stephanie's quarters quickly. He paused at the door, turning the datacard in his hands uneasily. Now the moment had come, he hesitated. He didn't know what news he brought. He only knew he didn't want Cormack to have to view it alone. But would she feel the same way? What would he do if she asked him to leave? Pull rank? _No,_ he thought dryly. _That would be the worst thing I could do._ Maybe Cutler was there. If Cormack wouldn't let _him_ stay, she still might allow her bunkmate to be there.

He couldn't stall any longer. He reached out and rang the chime.

The door slid open and he found himself facing an inquisitive Stephanie. She'd obviously recently come from the shower. Her long hair hung in untidy ringlets over her shoulders, dampening her gray t-shirt. She wore flannel pajama pants, and she was barefoot.

"Lieutenant? What's up?" She looked at him quizzically.

"Is Liz in?" he asked, surprising himself as well as Stephanie.

"No. Did you want to leave a message for her?"

"No." He was more than usually reticent, and Cormack grew concerned.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I didn't come to see Liz."

"Then why did you ask for her?" Stephanie looked at him, now as confused as she was concerned. He held up a datacard, and she frowned at it. "What's that?"

"Your mail."

"My mail?" It took a moment for his words to sink in. Her face grew very still. "My mail." Malcolm nodded. "Did you open it?"

"No."

Stephanie was actually disappointed. She felt it would have taken some of the suspense out of it if he already knew what the message contained. "Oh."

"I brought it for you." It was an asinine thing to say, and Malcolm cursed himself inwardly. Of course he brought it for her—he was standing right there with the damn thing in his hand. He held it out to her. "Here."

Reluctantly, almost as if she thought it would bite her, she took it. Stephanie stared at it for several moments, saying nothing. Malcolm could feel the fear and anxiety emanating from her.

"Would you—" they both said at the same time, then stopped.

"Go on," said Malcolm.

"Would you" Stephanie began again, but hesitated. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to be alone when she opened the letter, but she felt foolish and almost rude asking him to stay.

Seeing her dilemma playing openly on her face, Malcolm said gently, "Would you like me to stay?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Stephanie pressed her lips together and simply nodded. She left the doorway and went to the desk. Malcolm followed her into the cabin, letting the door slide shut behind him. He watched as she sat and stared for a moment at the datacard in her hand. He wanted to help, offer to put the card in the computer for her, but he knew this was something she had to do for herself.

When Cormack spoke, it was in a voice so low Malcolm wondered if she was even aware she was speaking aloud. "Ryn's a great cook, you know? No one anywhere in the system can make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies like my sister. Dad always called her Cookie because of it. She learned to make them from our grandma, but even Grandma's were never as good." Stephanie turned eyes shining with unshed tears on her friend and C.O. "I'll make 'em for you sometime," she offered, "but they won't be as good."

Slowly, Stephanie faced the computer. She raised her hand and slipped the card into the reader. A list of what it contained appeared on screen: one communiqué from her mother. She called up the message. Immediately the image of a woman with graying brown hair appeared. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot, and she looked like she'd been crying.

"Shit," breathed Stephanie. Instinctively she pulled one foot up under her and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "Shit."

The recording began to play. "Honey, I'm sorry it's been so long, but I didn't want to contact you until we knew something definite." A hard look crossed her face as she added, "I'm still angry with Marston and Gemma for sending that first message. They meant well, but I knew it was the wrong thing to do. They should have listened to me." Her expression grew compassionate. "I hope it wasn't too rough for you, honey."

"To hell with me! Get on with it, woman!" muttered Cormack in impotent fear. She didn't notice as Malcolm stepped in close behind her. She didn't even feel it as he rested a supportive hand on her shoulder.

The recording of Stephanie's mother took a deep breathand smiled. "She's going to be okay." She gave a sob that was as much of laughter as tears. "Ryn's going to be okay. When she didn't wake up right away after the surgery, I was so scared The doctors said it'll be a long recovery, and she's going to have to work hard, but she'll be okay. We'll all help her—you, too. You're so far away, but you can help. You know she loves getting your letters. You should write more."

Cormack snorted, almost laughing at her mother's scolding tone. It was comforting and familiar in the middle of the emotional outpouring of the rest of the message.

"I'll tell you more soon, but I want to get this sent right away. I miss you, honey." The tears welling in Stephanie's eyes mirrored those in her mother's. "We all miss you, and we love you. Good-bye."

The message ended and the screen went blank. Neither Stephanie nor Malcolm moved for over a minute. Time seemed frozen until Stephanie took a huge, shuddering breath and burst into tears. Immediately Malcolm knelt beside her, his hand still on her shoulder, offering comfort and support. Stephanie hadn't moved. She continued to sit with her arms around herself as her tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks.

Not knowing what else to do, Malcolm swiveled the chair so he could put his arms around her and simply held her while she cried. "It's all right," he murmured soothingly. "Everything's all right."

Cormack released her death-grip on herself and transferred the embrace to her friend. She clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing openly on his strong shoulder. The relief was too much. She'd been so anxious and afraid that the unexpected and wonderful news was more than her system could handle.

Eventually her tears ebbed and she loosened her hold on Malcolm. He released her and she sat back in her chair. She sniffed, wiping vainly at her wet cheeks with her palms. "Your knees must be killing you," she said at last.

Malcolm sat back on his heels and shrugged. "I've been in worse positions for longer," he answered placidly.

"Still And I got your uniform all wet."

"It'll wash. Can I get you a tissue?"

"How 'bout a whole box?" joked Cormack weakly. "There's one in the first drawer under my bunk. At the head of it," she added, pointing listlessly in its general direction.

Reed rose stiffly, wondering idly how long he had been on his knees. It felt like hours to his aching joints, but he wasn't about to admit it to Stephanie. He opened the drawer she'd indicated and found the box of tissue right in front. He pulled it out and shut the drawer. "Here you are." Malcolm held the box out to her.

"Thanks." Stephanie took it and pulled out a tissue. She did her best to dry her eyes with it, but quickly discovered it was too big a job for one little tissue. She withdrew another and mopped at her face. Finally satisfied, she got a third and blew her nose. "Bet I could win any beauty pageant you can name right now," she quipped, sniffing.

"I can't think of any, I'm afraid." Reed sat on the foot of Cormack's bed and looked her intently. "Will you be all right?"

Stephanie nodded. "Yeah. Ryn's okay. I'll be okay. It's just" She trailed off, her tired brain so full of swirling thoughts and emotions that she couldn't put them into words.

"It's all right. I think I understand. There's too much."

"Uh-huh." She nodded again. "Thank you."

Malcolm shrugged, feeling oddly embarrassed. He could think of nothing to say.

"No, I mean it," Stephanie insisted. "It means a lot to me that you were here for me—however way the news might've turned out."

"That's what friends are for," he replied simply.

"Yeah." She gave him a small, fragile smile. "Thanks."

They sat for a minute in silence broken only by Stephanie's occasional sniffs. It was she who finally spoke again. "You don't have to hang out. I'll be fine."

"It's all right. I can stay if you need me to."

"Nah." She shook her head. "Really. I'll be fine. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do than sit here with me. After all" She looked at him slyly and he was pleased to see the familiar, mischievous sparkle had returned to her eyes. "your man is home. And seeing as he and I only made nice last night, I don't need you spoiling it by spending time with me when you should be looking after him. So shoo!"

Malcolm would have protested that Trip didn't need looking after, but it would have been a lie. It was obvious to him as well as Stephanie that the engineer did occasionally need a keeper. He chuckled. "All right." He rose. "But let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Right now I just need some quality me time, you know?"

Reed nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"G'night." She raised a hand in good-bye as he left the cabin. The door closed after him, leaving her alone. She glanced around the room, suddenly at a loss for what to do. Then she started. "Well, duh! Idiot." She turned to the computer and typed a single sentence. She addressed the brief missive to Cutler and Lawless. She hesitated only a second before adding Fraser to the list. They hadn't spoken since their fight, but the helmsman deserved to get the news directly from her just as the others would. She added Kyrin Douglas to the list, and hit send.

That chore complete, she stretched and stood, yawning hugely. She collected the pile of used tissues and deposited it down the trash chute. "Better wash my face," she muttered to herself. "Again."

*****

"Bridge to Captain Archer."

Archer snapped open the comm on his desk. "Go ahead."

T'Pol's voice came back to him. "The Arkonians have completed their final part of our agreement. Shuttlepod One has been towed aboard."

"Has Zho'Kaan been returned to their ship?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess it's time we completed our part of the agreement. I'll be right there." He closed the comm and rose, stretching as best he could in the small space of his ready room. He took a moment to straighten his uniform before stepping out onto the bridge.

It being well into Beta shift, Ensign Donnelly was currently at the comm station. Archer nodded at the young man and said, "Hail the Arkonian ship." As the captain rounded the side of his chair and stood behind the Ensign Tanner at the helm, the Arkonian Captain appeared on the viewscreen. "Khata'n Zshaar."

"Captain Archer," the deep-voiced alien replied evenly.

"Thank you for your assistance in rescuing our engineer and retrieving our shuttlepod." Khata'n Zshaar said nothing but nodded his head once. Archer tried one last time. "I hope any future meetings between our people yield equally mutually beneficial results," he said pointedly.

Now the Arkonian spoke up grudgingly. "Iappreciate the aid your doctor gave my soldier."

It was enough to satisfy _Enterprise_'s captain. He held back a gratified smile. He'd quickly learned the Arkonians weren't big on pleasantries, so he simply said, "Archer out." The image of Khata'n Zshaar was replaced by a view of the starfield and the Arkonian vessel. "Helm, put us back on our previous course. When we're clear of these moons, take us to warp two."

"Aye, sir," replied Tanner, laying in the course.

*****

"Message," said Lawless from her seat at the computer. "One for each of us." She looked more closely. "From Stephanie."

Now Fraser perked up. She'd been half ignoring her bunkmate, pretending to concentrate on her book, but this was undoubtedly the news they'd been waiting for. "What does she say?"

Lawless opened her communiqué and read aloud, "Ryn's going to be okay."

"That's all?"

"That's enough for now, don't you think?" Mae glanced over her shoulder at her friend.

"I suppose so." Bonnie shrugged noncommittally.

"You want to see if yours says more?"

The helmsman shook her head. "Nah. Probably just says the same thing."

"At least open it so she knows you read it."

"You do it."

"No."

"Then leave it. I'll open it tomorrow." Bonnie turned back to her book.

Mae rolled her eyes but made no further argument. Instead, she brought up a different one. "You should talk to her."

Bonnie sighed heavily. "Let it go."

"No."

"You don't know what I said to her the last time we talked."

"I don't care what you said last time. It's next time I'm talking about."

"We've been through this before," Bonnie said flatly.

"Yeah. Several times," agreed Mae. "Did you think we wouldn't keep going through it?"

The helmsman was annoyed, and she let it show. "I'd sort of _hoped_, yeah!"

"Too bad."

Unhappy but resigned to having this conversation yet again, Fraser placed a marker in her electronic copy of _Crossing Borders_ and set it aside. "I don't know what to say—and don't tell me to apologize! I'll apologize when I'm damn good and ready."

"Okay." Lawless's face remained neutral, but inside she was grinning. Her friend's words were a definite improvement. At least now she was actually planning to apologize to Stephanie. "You could tell her you got her message and you're glad her sister's okay."

"I suppose."

"You are glad, right?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Fraser, shocked. "How could I not be glad? Shit!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking."

There was a brief silence during which Fraser hoped they were done and Lawless planned her next avenue of attack.

Before long Mae said, "You could take her her shoes."

Bonnie stared at her. "What?"

"Her shoes. From when she crashed here the other night. She left without them."

"Gee," spat Bonnie caustically, "I wonder whose fault that was?"

"You know I didn't mean that," Mae countered, frustrated. She shook her head. "Never mind. I'll take them myself. Now. I want to see her anyway." She rose and picked up the forgotten sneakers from their temporary home under the desk. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Whatever." Bonnie shrugged and picked up her datapad. Neither bunkmate looked at the other as Mae left the cabin.

When the door had shut, Bonnie set down the datapad once more. She knew she couldn't concentrate. Instead she rose and began preparing for bed. She doubted she could sleep, but she figured it was worth a shot. And she wanted to be able to pretend she was asleep when Mae returned so she wouldn't have to talk to her again that night. Well-meaning as she was sure Mae was, her interference was only making Bonnie's dilemma more difficult.

Out in the corridor, Mae walked quickly to Stephanie's quarters. She was pissed at her bunkmate, but there was nothing she could do. _Damn woman's too much like Stephanie,_ she thought ironically. _The more you push, the more she resists. Time to just let it go._ They were idle thoughts; she knew she couldn't just leave the situation alone. Instead, she would approach it from the opposite direction.

She stopped before Cormack's door and rang the chime.

"Who is it?" came the reply.

"It's Mae."

"Hang on!"

Mae waited, and before too long the door opened. Before she could get a word out, Stephanie pulled her inside.

"Wha—?" The sight that met her eyes answered her aborted query. Several candles were arranged on a scarf on the deck between the two bunks. They were unlit, but each one trailed the smoke of a recently snuffed wick into the air. "Ah-ha."

"I needed to center myself," said Stephanie. "You know?"

"I get it," Mae replied, nodding. "I saw your message."

"Ah. Good."

"I'm glad Ryn's gonna be okay."

"Thanks."

"And I brought you your shoes." Mae held up the sneakers. "You left them yesterday morning."

"Oh. Right." Stephanie took the shoes and put them away in her locker. "Thanks. Have a seat?"

"No thanks. I don't want to keep you from your rule-breaking," she joked.

"Three lousy candles," protested Cormack. Then she laughed. "I get the reasoning behind the whole 'no open flames' thing, it's just a bit inconvenient sometimes."

"Admit it. You love breaking the rules." Lawless grinned.

"Of course I do! Isn't that what they're for?" the blonde replied in false innocence.

Now it was Mae's turn to laugh. "You're a nut." She paused as her smile faded and was replaced by a sympathetic and serious expression. "I'm really glad about Ryn."

"You said." Stephanie looked at her friend dubiously, wondering where this was going.

"Bonnie's glad, too. She wanted you to know." It wasn't the exact truth, but it was close enough.

"Oh. Thanks."

Abruptly Mae changed her mind. She decided now was not the time to meddle with things between Stephanie and Bonnie. She'd said enough for tonight; she could save the next step for another day. "I better go. Alpha shift tomorrow."

"Right. Me, too. Thanks for stopping by. I really appreciate it."

"No problem."

"And thanks for the shoes," Stephanie added, remembering the delivery.

"No problem," repeated Mae, smiling. "See you for breakfast?"

"You bet!"

"Right on. Good-night."

"Night."

Stephanie locked the door behind Mae, then fished her lighter from its spot in her locker. Whispering a few words under her breath, she systematically relit the candles.

*****

Malcolm entered Trip's cabin, surprised to find it dark except for the small lamp over the bed. 

"Trip?"

There was no reply.

Reed looked around. It only took a moment for him to spot the engineer. Trip lay in the bed, asleep. He'd clearly dozed off waiting for Malcolm to arrive. A datapad rested on his bare chest where it had slipped from his hand. Careful not to wake him, Reed picked up the pad and glanced at what was on screen—_Foundation_, by Isaac Asimov. He placed an electronic marker in it and turned off the pad before setting it on the nightstand.

Malcolm looked at Trip. He just stood there, studying the sleeping form of his lover. Bruises that had been hidden by his uniform were clear even in the low light—a patch of mottled brown and yellow on his ribcage, a dark purple area across his right collar bone. Reed shook his head in distress. He'd arrived at Tucker's quarters with every intention of chewing him out for not letting Archer transport him back the moment they'd found him. While the evidence painted on Trip's body was in favor of Malcolm's argument, he couldn't bring himself to wake the engineer. Trip looked too sweet and peaceful as he slept, a slight smile on his handsome face. Reed couldn't help but smile, too.

Quietly, he began to undress. They'd not had the chance yet to move some of Malcolm's things to Trip's cabin—the test flight and subsequent search precluding any domestic plans they'd had for the day—but Malcolm didn't mind. He sat in the desk chair to remove his shoes and socks, placing both under the desk. He stood again and removed his coveralls, hanging them in the closet. Next he pulled off his black uniform shirt. Folding it neatly, he set it on top of his boots. It was immediately followed by his bright blue skivvies. Finally, he turned out the bedside light and slipped stealthily under the covers. 

Instinctively Trip shifted in his sleep toward the warm body next to him, wrapping a possessive arm around the shorter man. He mumbled something indistinct, and Malcolm chuckled.

"I love you, too," he whispered, knowing his lover didn't hear him. He gave Trip a tender kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Trip. Sweet dreams." He closed his eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.

*****  
End Log 2:14  
_Completed 14 Feb 03_

Continued in Log 2:15


	15. Log 2:15

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:15**: (Takes place immediately following _Dawn_ and Log 2:14.)  
_Rating [R]_

*****

Fraser picked up her filled mug of tea and pretended to look casually around the mess hall. In truth she knew who she was looking for and where that person was seated. As luck would have it, the individual in question was alone with her back to the door. Fraser took a deep breath, hoping what her bunkmate had told her was true—that Stephanie wasn't the type to hold a grudge. The helmsman steeled herself and crossed the room.

"Hey," she said with strained lightness.

Cormack started, surprised by the unexpected greeting. "Hey," she replied warily. After their last conversation, she wasn't sure what to expect. She hadn't spoken to Bonnie since that awful morning and Stephanie had no idea how the red-head felt about it.

"Anyone sitting here?" Fraser continued, gesturing to the empty chair across from the armory ensign.

Stephanie shook her head. "No."

"Mind if I?"

"Go ahead." She didn't have a clue where this chat was going to go, so she was disinclined to help it along. Bonnie had made the overture; she'd have to follow it up herself.

Fraser sat, placing her mug on the table before her and wrapping both hands around it. She found Stephanie's clipped replies discouraging but unsurprising. There was an uncomfortable pause as she tried to figure out how to continue. Stephanie unhelpfully sipped at her latté, waiting.

"So," Bonnie said eventually, "how are you?"

"Okay. You?"

"Fine. Fine." Another pause. "I heard about your sister."

"I know."

"Right. WellI'm glad she's okay." _It's like pulling teeth,_ Fraser's mind groused. She silently told it to shut up.

"Thanks," answered Cormack noncommittally. She was still uncertain, and chose to remain guarded in her replies.

Fraser blew on her hot tea and took a tentative sip. A small reflexive smile crossed her lips at the taste.

Stephanie almost spoke up. The expression on Bonnie's face was, she was sure, the same one Cormack got when she took her first swallow of coffee each morning. _Only I bet it's not nearly so endearing on me,_ she thought wistfully. Then she mentally shook her head. _Let it go,_ Stephanie ordered herself. She was almost annoyed that even after their fight she still found the auburn-haired woman incredibly attractive and desirable. Shoving her feelings under a psychological rock, she inquired neutrally, "Good?"

"Yeah." Bonnie gave a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. "Earl Grey," she added in explanation.

"Thought so. I could smell the bergamot."

"Oh." _Damn it,_ Bonnie cursed herself. _Idiot. What a great conversation you've started._

Another awkward silence fell over the pair. Around them life went on in the mess hall—people chatted, cutlery clinked on plates and bowls, a morning person burst into laughter over a joke.

Stephanie sipped very slowly at her drink. There were only a few swallows left. When she finished it she'd have no excuse to stay, and she wanted to stay. Whatever Bonnie had come to say, she doubted it was what the helmsman had said already, and Stephanie wanted to give her all the time she needed to get to her point. It was also nice just to sit there with her. Stephanie had missed Bonnie's company over the past several days, but hadn't felt she could approach her.

"Listen," Fraser began suddenly, startling Cormack from her thoughts. "I'm sorry. I was bitch, and it was the last thing you needed right then." Once she'd begun, the words came out in a rush. "I never should've yelled at you. I never should've told you to get out. You needed a friend, and I wasn't one. I'm sorry."

Cormack remained silent, taking in the helmsman's apology. Fraser waited in nervous anticipation for her response.

"It's okay," Stephanie said at last, surprised to find that it truly was.

"It can't be okay," protested Bonnie. "I—"

Cormack cut her off. "It is. I'm not saying it didn't suck rocks when you said what you said" Bonnie's face fell and Stephanie continued. "but I am saying it's okay now. I'm not upset about it anymore."

"But you were."

"Of course I was."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," repeated Stephanie deliberately.

"Serious?"

"Yeah." The armory ensign nodded. "Friends?" she asked with a hopeful smile. _Or more?_ her rebellious mind added.

Slowly, a mirroring smile spread across Bonnie's face. "Yeah. Friends." It wasn't as much as she wanted, but it was more than she'd felt she could expect in the circumstances.

"Good," Stephanie said with finality. "Now you can help me plan for Mae's birthday."

*****

Trip entered Malcolm's cabin to find the armory officer standing in the middle of the room looking lost. "What're you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know where to begin," Reed answered.

"How about here?" Tucker held up the square plastic bin he'd brought along. "Borrowed it from the quartermaster. We'll put what you want to move in here, and take it to my place to unload."

"Good idea. But I still have to figure out what I want."

Trip chuckled and set the bin on the bunk. "You did fine when you moved my stuff over here," he pointed out.

"It was easier when it was your stuff." Malcolm sighed. "All right." He moved to the closet and pulled out a pair of boots and a clean uniform.

"Here." Trip held out his hands and took the items from his lover. While Malcolm collected a black uniform shirt, socks, and a couple of sets of blues, Tucker placed the boots in the bottom of the bin and began neatly folding the coveralls. "Don't forget some PJs," he said. At Reed's bemused look, he added, "I know you probably won't use them to sleep in, but they're more comfortable to sit around in than this." He held up the folded uniform and grinned before putting it in the bin.

Malcolm smiled back at him and added his items to the collection. Next he pulled a pair of pajamas from a drawer and put them in as well.

"I already got a toothbrush for you," said Trip.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He looked at the contents of the container. "That everything?"

Malcolm glanced around the cabin. "I think so," he said. "If I want anything more, I know where to come to find it." He moved the plastic bin out of the way so he could sit on the bunk beside Trip. He took one of the engineer's hands in his own. "Thank you," he said again sincerely.

"You did the same for me," replied Trip with a slightly embarrassed shrug. It wasn't such a huge deal to him to move some of Malcolm's belongings into his quarters; to Tucker's mind it was simply good sense. But he knew it meant a lot to his lover. Tucker wanted him to know he was as welcome in Trip's space as he'd made Trip feel in his own. "Come on." The engineer gave Malcolm a quick kiss before rising. "Let's get this stuff moved. Then maybe we can get some dinner. I'm starved!"

"All right." Malcolm stood too, a small, knowing smile on his face. For a man who usually wore his heart on his sleeve like Trip, Malcolm found his sudden awkwardness at moments like this mildly humorous. It was endearing, if oddly contradictory in his view. Reed bent to pick up the bin, but Tucker beat him to it.

"I got it," the blond man said, lifting it up. "Ready?"

"Ready."

It wasn't far to Trip's quarters and Malcolm wanted to get there as swiftly as possible. He set a quick pace along _Enterprise_'s corridors. He knew he was being silly, but he didn't want to run into anyone on the way. The fact that everyone knew about his relationship with the Chief Engineer was irrelevant; he didn't feel the need for witnesses as he moved some of his belongings to the younger man's cabin. 

They were nearly in the clear when Reed's hopes were thwarted. The men rounded the last corner just in time to see Cormack ringing the chime at Tucker's door.

"Evening, Ensign," said Trip as they reached her. He looked over his shoulder at Reed. "Can you get the door? My hands're kind of full," he added lightly.

"Hi, Commander. Lieutenant," said Cormack cheerfully.

"Ensign," said Reed. Trying not to meet Stephanie's eye, he keyed in the unlock code.

"Did you need something?" Tucker asked Cormack, stepping into the cabin. 

Reed let the ensign precede him inside. He sat on the bunk, hoping she would forget he was there. It was absurd to be so embarrassed at the situation. She was his friend, and knowing Cormack, she'd probably be surprised to learn he and Trip hadn't made this little move long ago. Still, he couldn't help cursing her uncannily inopportune timing.

"I wanted to confirm a crew assignment with you," Stephanie said, completely unaware of Malcolm's discomfort.

Trip set the bin on the desk. "That's kind of unusual." He leaned against the desk and looked at her inquisitively.

"Yes, sir," Cormack agreed readily. "I saw on the duty roster that Ensign Lawless is scheduled for Alpha shift next Thursday. Is that right?"

"If that's what is says, that's right. Why?"

"You don't expect that to change, do you?" asked Cormack instead of answering his question.

"Nope."

"Good! Will you two be free that evening, too?" She glanced hopefully from the engineer to the armory officer.

"I think so." Trip looked over at his partner. "You know of anything we've got planned for next Thursday night?"

Reed shook his head. "No."

"So what's going on?" Tucker persisted, returning his attention to Cormack.

"It's Mae's birthday. I've cleared use of the Rec. Center for a movie that night, and Hoshi's working on getting Chef to agree to make a cake," she explained.

Trip smiled. "Yeah? Great!"

"So you'll come?"

"How 'bout it, Malcolm?"

"Of course," Reed said. He was finally at ease. It appeared Cormack was so caught up in her own plans she hadn't even noticed the bin of clothing Trip had been carrying. _Or if she did,_ he thought, _perhaps she thinks it's just his laundry he's picked up from the quartermaster._

Cormack grinned. "Cool! The movie starts at 1930 hours. Then we'll dive into the cake."

"Not literally, I trust," quipped Malcolm.

"No. Besides, isn't the chick usually supposed to jump _out_ of the cake rather than _into_ it?" Stephanie joked back.

"That's the way it worked at my brother-in-law's bachelor party," put in Trip.

They all laughed at that. "I hope your sister didn't find out!" chuckled Malcolm.

"Actually," the engineer admitted, blushing, "it _was_ my sister."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That must have been traumatic for you."

"Only a little. I knew she was gonna do it. And she was wearing a swimsuit. Now if she'd been naked" Tucker shuddered. "I couldn't've handled it."

Malcolm shook his head in sympathy. "I don't even want to think about my sister leaping from a cake—clothed or otherwise," he said with finality.

Cormack considered for a moment. "My sister wouldn't do it," she decided. "Not even on a bet. Well, I better go," she continued. "I'm meeting the gals for dinner to discuss party plans." She smiled at them and turned to go. Suddenly remembering one more thing, she paused in the open doorway to add, "Oh, and it's casual dress for the party, please. No uniforms! Now I'll let you gents get back to your unpacking. See you later." She shot Malcolm a quick grin before disappearing out the door.

"Dinner and unpacking," echoed Tucker. He pushed away from the desk and crossed to Malcolm. "Sounds like a good plan. Let's eat first, then we can finish getting your stuff put away, okay? I already cleared a drawer for you this morning. Second one down. Just like you did for me." He stood next to his partner, waiting. "Come on. Aren't you hungry?"

"I am, yes." Malcolm shook himself from his momentary daze. Despite past experience, Cormack's parting words and knowing glance had caught him off guard. _I should know by now that Stephanie is far too observant at all the wrong times,_ he thought wryly. He mustered up a smile for his lover and stood up. "Let's eat."

*****

"So what movie do you want to watch on your birthday?" Stephanie stabbed a bite of steak with her fork and popped it into her mouth as she waited for her friend's reply.

"I don't know," Mae said. She thoughtfully munched a mouthful of chicken vindaloo. "Maybe something classic like _Plan 9 from Outer Space_, or anything by Ed Wood. But then I wonder, would I rather see something that's intentionally funny, you know?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

Bonnie spoke up at that moment. "Cheerleaders are always good."

As one, the other women at the table looked at her. "What?" said Liz—the only one who hadn't just taken a bite of her dinner.

"Cheerleaders," repeated the helmsman eagerly. "Cheerleader movies are always entertaining on one level or another."

Suddenly Mae's eyes lit up. "There's an outside possibility we could get something with Ed Wood _in_ a cheerleading outfit."

"Why do I think you mean the kind with the short skirt and tight sweater, and not a guy's uniform?" inquired Stephanie.

"Because I made you watch _Glen or Glenda_ that one time."

"Ah yes. That gem of twentieth century filmmaking," Stephanie said dryly.

"Do I sense irony in your tone?" Mae was friendly but challenging.

Stephanie inhaled deeply and with relish. "Mm! Rich in irony. Good for the blood."

Mae, Bonnie, and Liz all laughed. "I'll check the database," suggested Mae. "See what I can find."

"I'll look," offered Stephanie. "We'll plan so you can party."

"Okay, but if you can't find anything with Ed Wood in a cheerleading outfit, look for _Bring It On_," recommended Bonnie.

"_Bring It On_?" echoed the tactical officer. "That's a cheerleader flick?" The helmsman nodded. "Okay."

"And if we don't have that in the database, look for _Sugar & Spice_."

"I should be taking notes. I take it that's another cheerleader flick."

Again Bonnie nodded. "It's about cheerleaders who rob banks."

Again her companions stared at her. "You're making this up," declared Stephanie.

"No. Really!"

"They sound good to me," put in Mae. 

Bonnie's eyes lit up. "We could even have a double-feature!" Her expression grew dreamy. "Mmm. Many hours of nubile young cheerleaders"

"Down, girl!" said Mae, laughing. She was pleased. This evening alone was evidence that Bonnie and Stephanie had worked out their recent problems. The helmsman's added joviality was even more proof that things were getting back to normal.

Bonnie pouted playfully. "You never let me have any fun."

At that moment, Hoshi arrived with her dinner in hand. "Sorry I'm late," she said.

"That's okay. Have a seat!" offered Mae. "We saved one for you."

"Thanks." Hoshi took the only empty chair at the table. "How's the planning coming?"

"I'll let you know once I've cross-referenced Ed Wood and cheerleaders in the ship's movie database," answered Stephanie. 

Hoshi eyed her suspiciously. "I think I don't want to know what you're talking about."

"You're right." Stephanie promptly moved on to other plans. "Did you have any trouble getting Chef to agree to make the cake?"

The comm officer smiled proudly. "None at all."

"What kind of cake is it going to be?" asked Liz.

"Yellow with chocolate frosting." Hoshi looked at Mae. "Right?"

"Yep," agreed the engineer. "Just like my mom always used to make when I was a kid."

"Good, because that's what I told Chef you wanted."

Stephanie was surprised. "Really? I'd've thought you'd go for some killer chocolate deal."

"For some other occasion, sure. But not for my birthday," said Mae.

"Huh. Learn something new everyday, I suppose."

"I'm glad there's still some mystery in our relationship," quipped the engineer.

"Hey, you had key lime pie," Liz reminded Stephanie. "So I'd think twice before criticizing someone else's choice of birthday dessert."

"I'm not criticizing!" protested the blonde woman. "Did I criticize?" She looked around the table at her friends. They were all grinning or laughing at her, and she grinned back. It felt good. It had been a heavy couple of weeks and this joking around the dinner table was refreshing. "All right," she said when no one contradicted her query. "That's that settled. Decorations?"

"Under control," said Bonnie. "Liz and I are totally on top of it."

"Yeah, I heard you prefer to be on top," remarked Stephanie slyly. To her joy, the helmsman actually blushed. "Oh my gods! I can't believe I got you!"

"You caught me off guard!" protested Bonnie. "It won't happen again."

"Oh no," put in Mae, seeing the mischievous light in Stephanie's hazel eyes. "You've challenged her."

"What?"

"You've challenged her."

"So?" The auburn-haired woman looked at the faces of those around here. All wore expressions of mixed mirth and pity. "What?"

"Last time someone challenged her—" began Hoshi, but she cut herself off. She'd nearly forgotten she was still sworn to secrecy.

"Last time what?" Bonnie wanted to know.

Now Mae and Liz were intrigued, too. "Yeah. Last time what?" echoed the engineer curiously.

Hoshi gave Stephanie an apologetic look. "Sorry."

"It's okay," the blonde assured her. She met the inquiring gazes of her friends. "Last time someone challenged me, they got a rather personal surprise." The looks on the women's faces were widely varied and, in Stephanie's opinion, hilarious. She burst out laughing. "Yeah, you just keep thinking what you like," she said suggestively.

Bonnie grinned lasciviously. "Oh, I will."

Across the mess hall, Malcolm and Trip both looked up at the sound of raucous laughter. Malcolm smiled as he determined the source.

"Sounds like the women are having fun," he commented.

"Yeah," Trip agreed. "The plans for Mae's birthday party must be going well."

"Mm-hmm." Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. He took a bite of his dinner, contemplating. Eventually he said, "I never told you what Stephanie gave me for my birthday."

"Huh? No, I guess you didn't. I didn't even know she gave you anything."

"Well she did."

Malcolm's tone of voice and the tiny smile at the corner of his lips had Trip intrigued. "What was it?" he asked uncertainly. He didn't know if he should be worried or excited. He had the sinking feeling he should be both, but decided to stick with excited based on his lover's smile.

"I've just thought of one more thing I want to get from my cabin." Malcolm looked at the engineer coyly. "Assuming I'm invited to spend the night tonight?"

"Sure!" replied Trip so readily that Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle.

Light shone in Malcolm's eyes. "Then save room for dessert," he advised with a grin.

Now Trip's interest was well and truly piqued. "We can go now" he began.

"We're not done eating."

"You said save room."

Malcolm laughed at his lover's enthusiasm. "You don't even know what it is," he said. "How do you know you'll like it?"

"If it involves you and dessert, I'll like it," answered Trip with certainty.

Reed just shook his head in amusement. He considered telling the younger man about the edible body paints right then, but decided against it. He was enjoying his dinner, and wasn't ready for dessert yet. The paints had waited nearly a month already; they, and he, could wait another hour or so.

*****

Thursday came quickly. After her shift that day, Liz quickly changed from her uniform to civilian gear before meeting up with Bonnie. The helmsman was already in the Rec. Center when Liz arrived. She was up on a stepladder affixing the end of a long streamer to a corner of the ceiling. She hadn't noticed the exobiologist's arrival, and Liz took a moment to study her. 

Liz was slightly surprised at Bonnie's choice of "casual wear." While she herself had gone with black slacks and a lightweight eggshell top; Bonnie was more formally attired in a short, tight, dark green dress. She was currently barefoot, but Liz spotted the helmsman's discarded shoes nearby. The heels were high enough that Bonnie had wisely removed them before climbing onto the stool. It took a moment for Liz to realize what was up. When she did, she grinned. From what she and Mae had discussed clandestinely over the past couple of months, Liz was pretty sure the outfit Bonnie wore was for Stephanie's benefit. She wondered if the auburn-haired woman just happened to have the dress, or if it had been a special commission from the quartermaster. She would have to ask Mae.

"Hey!" Liz called, finally deciding to reveal her presence.

Bonnie looked over her shoulder at the new arrival. "Hey!" She climbed down off the stool and carried it to the opposite corner of the room. "Hand me the end of the streamer?" she asked, pointing.

"Sure." Liz picked up the trailing ribbon and carried it to Bonnie's new perch. She handed it up to her.

"Thanks." Bonnie began twisting the streamer while she talked. "Could you start setting up the table? There's a bag of confetti there, and some other decorations in that box."

Liz fished in the box that sat on a bench in front of the movie screen. There she found a small bag of brightly colored confetti, crepe-paper pompons, and a number of toy ray-guns. She picked up a gun and eyed it dubiously. "What are these?"

"D'you like them? They're replicas of the guns used by the aliens in _Plan 9 from Outer Space_," answered Bonnie eagerly.

"I like them, I just want to know how you got them."

"What's to know?" Bonnie stuck the last trailing end of streamer to the ceiling and stepped down to the deck. "They're just disilicon polymer. They'll get resequenced back into something useful after the party."

"But how did you get the quartermaster to agree to make them?"

Bonnie grinned. "I'll never tell." The door opened at that moment and Hoshi entered, carrying a large box. Bonnie's eyes widened in anticipation. "Is that the cake?"

"Yeah," answered Hoshi. "Can I get a hand?"

Liz deposited the toy ray-gun back where she'd found it, and she and Bonnie took the container from the comm officer. They set it on the end of the table and opened it. Both women immediately burst out laughing.

"She's gonna kill us!" exclaimed Bonnie gleefully. The large sheet cake was covered in chocolate frosting as promised. It was also topped with many little candles. "Are there enough?" She began counting.

Hoshi nodded, smiling. "I put them on myself." Her brown eyes gleamed with delight.

"You know," pointed out Liz, "she'll have plenty of opportunities to get her revenge."

"I can live with that."

Liz shook her head at Hoshi's mischievous merriment. "Yeah, but I'm next!" she exclaimed. They laughed.

Bonnie finished counting. "Yep. Thirty candles." She grinned wickedly. "Perfect."

"Come on. Let's get it set up. People should be here any second."

Working quickly, they scattered confetti over the table, allowing some to fall to the floor. "To add to the festive atmosphere," Bonnie claimed. They carefully removed the cake from the box and set it on a stand in the center of the table. Next, Bonnie arranged the toy ray-guns and pompons artfully around the centerpiece while Hoshi stowed the empty box under the table out of the way. The trio stood gazing appreciatively at their creation.

"What are you guys staring at?"

They turned as one to see Stephanie looking at them inquisitively from the doorway. Liz noticed she was wearing her favorite low-slung jeans and tight brown sweater that showed off her hour-glass shape to best advantage. The exobiologist smirked knowingly, then hid the smile, hoping her bunkmate hadn't noticed. She needn't have worried. The blonde woman's eyes were trained on the birthday cake and its numerous candles. "Oh my gods!" Stephanie exclaimed, laughing. "She's gonna kill us!"

"I know!" Bonnie crowed brightly. "Isn't it great?"

Stephanie nodded vehemently. "Oh yeah!"

"Wait!" exclaimed Liz, suddenly apprehensive. "What about the no open flames rule?"

"Is that restricted to candles or does it include people?" quipped Bonnie, sending Stephanie into new peals of laughter.

"I'm serious!" Liz insisted.

Still chuckling, Bonnie retrieved her shoes and slipped them on, then rejoined the group in the middle of the room. At that moment, the door slid open again and Trip and Malcolm strolled in, casually dressed as Cormack had instructed them. Even Bonnie paused to eye the pair appreciatively. Reed sported chinos and a black shirt that made his eyes look stormy blue-grey and incredibly sultry. Tucker was in blue jeans and a sapphire blue shirt that also accentuated his eyes.

Stephanie whistled in appreciation. "Yeah, baby!" she exclaimed. "You gents sure clean up nice."

Trip actually blushed but took her comment in stride. "We'll take that as a compliment," he said.

"As it was intended," grinned Stephanie in return.

Only Hoshi noticed the slight deflation in Bonnie's shoulders at Stephanie's words. She reached out and took the helmsman's hand, surprising her. Hoshi smiled encouragingly and squeezed her hand. Bonnie's eyes lit in understanding and she gave the comm officer a smile of thanks.

"So where's the birthday girl?" asked Tucker looking around the room.

Liz descended on the pair like a vulture. "Commander! We have problem."

The engineer's face grew serious at her dire tone. "What's wrong?"

"We can't light the candles on Mae's cake!"

"And you think I have a lighter?" Trip was puzzled.

"No, no! I have that." She reached into the pocket of her slacks and pulled out the item.

"Hey, that's mine!" exclaimed Stephanie in surprise.

Her bunkmate ignored her. "I just don't have permission from Captain Archer."

Now Tucker understood. "Hang on." He gave Malcolm a teasing look, saying, "And don't give me that disapproving look of yours. Yeah, I'm gonna use my friendship with the Captain to get a little favor. In the grand scheme of things, I don't think it'll do any harm."

"I didn't say a word," protested Reed, but he was smiling. He knew his lover was just teasing, and for once he didn't even mind that it was in front of others.

Tucker opened a comm line to the captain. It took him only moments to get the clearance he wanted. "Thanks, Captain," said the engineer. "There's a bunch of people here who really appreciate it."

"But will Ensign Lawless?" Archer joked.

Tucker laughed. "I'll let you know—and I'll try to save you a piece of cake. Tucker out." He closed the connection and turned to see several grinning and appreciative faces.

"Thank you so much!" said Liz.

"No problem," he assured her.

More people began to arrive then—Donnelly, Douglas, Young, Hess, Novakovich, Mayweather. 

Liz's eyes lit up when Travis walked in. She hurried over to him. "Hi, handsome!" she said, welcoming him with a kiss.

He returned the kiss warmly "Hi, beautiful," he replied when their lips finally parted. "Where's Mae?" He looked around the room.

"Late for her own party!" quipped Stephanie loudly as Lawless entered the room.

"Hey, I had to change clothes!" declared Mae, holding out her arms and showing off her chinos and lavender shirt. "We agreed no uniforms." She greeted each of her friends, who all wished her happy birthday. It was as Stephanie gave her a hug that Mae spotted her birthday cake over the blonde woman's shoulder. "God damn!" She released Cormack and approached it, silently counting the candles. She turned around to face the party's planners and laughed. "I am so gonna kill you! Tell me you're not gonna light them."

Liz once more held up the lighter she'd borrowed from her bunkmate. "Sorry," she said, obviously not the least bit sorry.

Mae appealed to her C.O. "Commander, you can't let them! There are regulations involved."

Tucker shrugged and shook his head in mock regret. "Sorry, Mae. They got the okay directly from the captain—but we have to save him a piece of cake."

"With all due respect, sir, you're no help at all." She sighed, resigned but not defeated. She pointed at Bonnie, Liz, Hoshi, and Stephanie. "You're all on my list. Now," she continued, raising her voice to encompass everyone in the room, "let's get this party started!"

*****

The party was deemed a roaring success by everyone. It was nearly 2300 when the last guests finally filed out, leaving only the organizers and the guest of honor in the Rec. Center. Stephanie eyed the remnants of the evening's festivities. The confetti littering table and floor had been joined by a wealth of yellow cake crumbs. Most of the streamers had been pulled down and used to decorate Mae despite her half-hearted protests. A pile of dirty plates and forks sat jumbled in a bin next to a small stack of opened presents. Only two of the pompons had survived the viewing of the movie; the rest were in tattered shreds.

Stephanie did a quick count of the toy ray-guns and frowned. "Weren't there five of these?" she asked, holding up one and looking around the room.

"Yeah," answered Bonnie. "Why?"

"Because there are only four now." Stephanie chuckled. "I wonder who snagged the missing one." She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Mae.

The engineer held up her hands in protest. "It wasn't me. I thought about it, but I figured they probably ought to go back to get turned into something with a more practical use."

Stephanie wasn't entirely sure she believed her friend, but she let it go. It wasn't as if the engineer had her uniform on with its copious pockets perfect for hiding a ray-gun. The toy definitely would have been visible in the pocket of the pants she currently wore. "Hmm If you say so." As she returned the ray-gun to the table, her eyes lit on the remains of the cake. "Oh my gods! I forgot we were supposed to save the captain a piece!"

"There's enough," replied Cutler easily. "But we need something to put it in."

Hoshi spoke up. "I'll take care of it. Someone has to take the dishes back to the galley. I'll just get a container for the rest of the cake while I'm there." She picked up the bin, dishes and cutlery clanking together noisily.

"You got it?" asked Bonnie.

"Yeah. Thanks," the comm officer assured her. "But you could get the door for me."

"Sure." Bonnie opened the door and Hoshi smiled her thanks.

"I'll be right back." She swept out of the room, her long floral skirt flowing around her slim legs.

Mae rose from her seat on the end of bench. "What can I do to help?" she asked.

"Nothing," answered the others all at once and laughed.

"You wouldn't let me clean up after my birthday," continued Stephanie, "so you don't get to clean up now."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," joked Bonnie as she swept crumbs and confetti into a trash bag. She picked up a half-melted birthday candle. "Did you want to keep these?" she teased her bunkmate, tossing it to her.

Mae gave her a mock glare. "No thank you," she answered and dropped the candle in with the rest of the garbage.

"How about the cake?" offered Liz. "There's enough for Captain Archer and then some."

"Give him all of it. He can get fat off of it. It can be my thanks to him for letting you guys light all these lovely little candles," Mae said dryly. She scooped up the rest of the offending items and tossed them into the trash.

"That's enough cleaning up from you," declared Stephanie. She took the engineer by the shoulders and propelled her toward the door. "Go on. We'll finish this. You must have birthday mail from home to read before you go to bed."

"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to the usual jokes from my brother. He always loves pointing out how, even though we're both getting older, he'll always be younger than me. I'm sure he's saved some particularly choice words for this year."

"Oo! Must remember to use that next August when Ryn's birthday rolls around." Stephanie grinned impishly.

"Suddenly I'm really glad I'm an only child," said Bonnie. Liz nodded in earnest agreement.

Mae chuckled as she collected her presents. "Be very glad. Good night, you guys." She gave each a parting hug, including Hoshi who returned just as Mae was walking out the door. "Thanks for the party!"

Liz took the small storage box from Hoshi and packed up the cake. "Should one of us deliver this to him personally, or should we just leave it on the desk in his ready room?" the exobiologist asked, closing the box.

"I'll take it and leave in on his desk tonight," said Hoshi. "It'll be a surprise for him in the morning."

"Few things beat cake for breakfast," put in Bonnie. "You want to toss some confetti in with it? Just for the sake of festivity?" She held up a handful of the sparkling stuff.

"No," opined Stephanie. "If he's anything like me in the morning, he won't realize until it's too late that it's not edible."

"I've only had breakfast with him once," Hoshi said, "and I don't think he's that bad off in the mornings. But maybe we shouldn't chance it. I'll take it up there now, if you guys have everything covered here."

"Go on," Liz told her. "We've got it under control." She caught Hoshi's eye and gave the tiniest nod in the direction of the other two women, then tilted her head toward the door. Despite her expertise in communication, it took Hoshi a moment to understand. When she figured out what Liz was saying, she smiled slyly and nodded.

"Good-night, you guys!" she called, heading to the door.

"Night, Hoshi," replied Stephanie with a smile. "Thanks for taking care of the cake and everything."

"I'm glad I could help."

"G'night. See you tomorrow," said Bonnie.

Before the door had finished closing behind the departed comm officer, Liz piped up. "I'll take the stepstool back to the quartermaster." She strode to the corner where it had been stowed for the evening and picked it up. "Do you two need any more help, or are we all set?"

Stephanie looked around. The room was almost back to its normal state. "I think we're good. Bonnie?"

"Yeah," agreed the helmsman. "We're almost done."

"Okay. Good-night, then." Liz made a quick exit, leaving the two women alone together.

A silence fell as they continued cleaning. Finally, Bonnie broke it. "That was really subtle, eh?" she joked nervously.

"Yeah." Stephanie had been thinking the same thing. "Liz is sweet, but she's not always subtle."

"That's kind of ironic coming from you." The helmsman tried to keep her tone steady, but finding herself alone with the armory officer made her feel awkward and a little edgy. She desperately hoped it didn't come through in her voice.

Stephanie laughed self-deprecatingly. "Subtle with a capital B," she quipped with strained lightness, pronouncing the usually silent consonant. "That's me."

Another silence fell. Both women sub-consciously slowed the pace of their cleaning, neither ready to leave the other's company quite yet.

"It really was a great party," said Stephanie after a while. She found the silence oppressive and increasingly awkward; she had to try to fill it.

"Yeah," agreed Bonnie. "I told you _Bring It On_ would be a hit."

"You did." The blonde smiled. "And the cake was sure great."

"Uh-huh." Bonnie brushed the last of the crumbs and confetti into the trash bag she held. She looked around, saying reluctantly, "Iguess that's it."

Stephanie swept the room with her eyes. "I guess so." Her gaze came to rest on the helmsman. She'd noticed Bonnie's outfit the moment she'd entered the Rec. Center earlier that evening. Indeed, she'd spent several seconds admiring the rear view before announcing her presence to the group admiring the cake. She'd been afraid to say anything all evening, unsure how the younger woman might respond. Now she couldn't help it—she had to say something. "You lookreally great."

Bonnie's heart suddenly beat so fast she was sure the armory officer could hear it. "Thanks," she said, trying to sound casual and failing. "You, too."

Stephanie shrugged. "I always wear this when there's an event."

"I know." Fraser suddenly realized she'd revealed more than she'd intended with those two words.

"You do?" asked Cormack, curious and pleased. A thrill of excitement zinged through her and her heart picked up its pace.

"Yeah." It was out now, no point denying it. Now she just had to wait and see how Stephanie would react.

A smile slowly spread across Cormack's face, lighting her eyes. "Cool." She openly scrutinized Fraser, eyeing her from head to toe and back. Her pulse was racing, but she did her damnedest to appear calm. "I take it back," she said finally. "You don't look great. You look _fabulous _in that dress."

"Thanks," Bonnie said again, smiling. She took a step toward Stephanie, negligently dropping the trash bag she held to the floor. "I really like that sweater on you. It brings out the golden brown in your eyes." _And the full curve of your tits,_ her mind added lustfully.

"Yeah?" Stephanie stepped tentatively forward, halving the short distance between them.

"Yeah." Another step and Bonnie was within centimeters of the blonde. She reached out a hand and tucked a loose curl of hair back from the shorter woman's face. "And I'm glad you wore your hair down tonight," she added softly.

Stephanie inhaled sensuously at the gentle touch of Bonnie's fingers on her ear. The helmsman continued to trail her fingers down Stephanie's neck, then followed their path was a string of feather-soft kisses. Stephanie closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, reveling in the sensation of Bonnie's warm lips on her skin. She sighed in delight.

Slowly, Bonnie released the sweet flesh and leaned back to look at Stephanie's face. The blonde woman opened her eyes and met the gaze steadily. Both women smiled.

"Nice," purred Stephanie. Before Bonnie could reply, she reached a hand up and twined her fingers in the soft auburn hair at the back of the helmsman's neck and pulled her into a searing, breath-stealing kiss. Not breaking the embrace, Bonnie kicked off her shoes, bringing herself closer to the same height as Stephanie. The armory officer instantly adjusted to the change and deepened the kiss, her lips parting and her tongue seeking entrance to Bonnie's mouth. Bonnie happily obliged.

When the two finally parted, both were momentarily breathless. Stephanie's knees were weak, and she leaned against the nearby table while her mind and body frantically processed what had just transpired. For a moment Bonnie was worried Stephanie might already be regretting their actions, but then Stephanie smiled at her and she had to smile back.

"We could do more of that anytime," the blonde said fervently.

"That'd be cool," agreed Bonnie eagerly.

Stephanie's smile widened into a grin. "Cool."

Emboldened by her success, Bonnie took one more chance and leaned into Stephanie again, whispering, "Remember, I like surprises."

The armory officer immediately remembered the conversation she referred to. "Rather _personal_ surprises?" she murmured back coyly, enjoying the tickle of the taller woman's breath on her ear.

Bonnie nuzzled the shorter woman's cheek tantalizingly. "Best kind."

*****

Trip and Malcolm strolled leisurely toward Trip's cabin. Both were full of birthday cake and good humor. Reed slipped an arm around his lover's back, pulling him closer as they walked. Surprised but pleased, Tucker returned the gesture, wrapping a long arm around the shorter man's shoulders.

They were unlikely to meet anyone in the corridors at that hour, but the uncharacteristically public display of affection still baffled the engineer. He wanted to ask what had brought it on, but he didn't want to ruin the moment by questioning it. Instead he asked lightly, "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Mm-hmm," replied Malcolm. "I did. I think I'm getting better at these large group functions."

Trip almost commented that twelve people wasn't that large a group, but he stopped himself in time. _No need to scare him with stories about family birthday parties,_ Tucker told himself firmly. _Cross that bridge only when you have to._ Aloud, he said, "I think you're right. You're gonna be an expert before long."

Malcolm chuckled wryly. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but the complete insanity of your claim causes me to doubt its credence."

"I think that's about the most polite and grammatical razzing I've ever gotten."

"I'm happy to be able to provide the service."

Trip laughed and Malcolm joined him. They reached Tucker's cabin and went inside. The moment the door shut, the engineer took Reed in both arms and kissed him soundly. Malcolm's lips parted readily to Trip's probing tongue, and he savored the hint of chocolate lingering in his lover's mouth.

Both men were breathless by the time they parted. Trip turned his head slightly and murmured in Malcolm's ear, "I can think of other 'services' you could provide."

Malcolm closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Trip's hot breath on his neck. "Is that so?" he whispered. He leaned into the feather-light touch of Tucker's lips as the engineer nibbled tenderly along his jaw.

Trip paused only long enough to breathe, "Yep."

Reed's body responded immediately to the thrill of the single word. He smiled and opened his eyes, tilting his head just out of his lover's reach. Their eyes met. Malcolm adopted a pleasantly inquisitive expression. "What 'services' are of interest to you tonight, sir?" he inquired suggestively. 

"What 'services' are you offering?" answered Tucker just as coyly.

"I have a wide variety from which Sir might wish to choose."

"Why don't you get out those paints you introduced me to the other night, and we'll just go from there?"

Malcolm placed a slow, hot kiss on his lover's lips. "Sir has most excellent taste." He collected the small bottles and the paint brushes as Trip crossed the room to the computer.

"Jazz?" the engineer inquired.

"Mm. I think so," agreed Malcolm. "I believe I paint best to jazz."

"I know it brings out my artistic side." Trip called up a track of sultry jazz music and turned to his lover.

Malcolm eyed him assiduously. "The canvas must be properly prepared." A salacious expression superceded the studious one and he spoke a single word. "Strip."

Trip complied, smiling. Once he was completely naked, he asked in a lascivious voice, "Where do you want me?"

"Right where you are." Malcolm contemplated his canvas thoughtfully, noting the cut of the muscles, the smoothness of the skin, the gentle covering of hair. "Ah! Of course," he declared as inspiration struck him. Malcolm selected the bottle of bittersweet chocolate and dipped a brush into it. He began to paint.

*****  
End Log 2:15  
_Completed 13 March 03_

Continued in Log 2:16


	16. Log 2:16

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Author's note**: My sincerest apologies for the huge delay in getting this chapter posted. I won't go into my tale of woe (some of you know it already), but let me just say water and computers just don't mix well. Thanks to everyone still hanging in there and reading. It's much appreciated!

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:16**: (Takes place during and after the episode _Stigma_.)  
_Rating [PG-13]_

*****

Mae sipped appreciatively at her coffee. To her right, Liz was equally engaged by her grapefruit juice. The other two at the table were less intrigued by their beverages and more intrigued by each other. Mae and Liz exchanged an amused glance as Bonnie and Stephanie traded yet another lascivious look.

Liz set aside her juice and asked, "So what's everyone planning to do when we get to Dekendi Three?" Another lustful look passed between Bonnie and Stephanie and Liz fought back a chuckle. "Travis and I are planning to do some sight-seeing," she added, trying to keep the conversation clean.

"I read in the Vulcan Database that there's a great art museum in the city where they're holding the medical conference," put in Mae.

"I'm not much into art museums, are you?" Bonnie glanced again at her girlfriend.

Stephanie shook her head and met the auburn-haired woman's gaze. A tiny but undeniably salacious smile quirked her lips. "Uh-uh. Too stuffy. I thought we could go hiking. There's a great nature reserve outside the city. I could really use somefresh air."

"You've been doing some research, too, I see," said Liz dryly. Her eyes met Mae's and she shook her head in amusement. The engineer gave a small nod of understanding and agreement. Their friends obviously thought they were being subtle, but their desire to be alone together glowed like a neon sign.

"Well I'm going to the museum," Mae announced, startling the pair from their absorption with one another.

"Would you mind company?" asked Liz. "I'd love to see some local culture, and I'm sure I can talk Travis into it."

"That'd be great." Mae fixed her bunkmate and best friend with a pointed yet humorous look. "It doesn't look like anyone else is interested."

Stephanie realized suddenly that she and Bonnie had been caught and a moment of guilt hit her. "We could all meet for dinner one of the evenings we're there," she offered in apology. "We have three, right?"

"Two. Movie night is the second night we're there. I have a plan for that night."

"Why does that sound so ominous to me?" asked Stephanie rhetorically.

Mae just grinned and laughed maniacally, startling a passing crewmember. Liz recognized the medical assistant and smiled at him reassuringly. "She's gone mad. We're sending her to see you in sickbay once we're done here. We think medication may be in order."

"Iuh" Ensign Cohn was taken aback but gamely replied, "I'm sure Doctor Phlox can devise an appropriate treatment," before hurrying away.

"Was he blushing?" asked Bonnie, watching him go. "I think he was blushing."

At another table in a corner by the windows, Kyrin and Liam ate breakfast and discussed similar plans.

"I've found the most wonderful restaurant," Kyrin told his partner, smiling. "It's elegant, discreet, and is purported to have outstanding food."

"And where'd you learn that, then?" asked Liam. "I didn't think anyone on board had been there."

"They haven't as far as I know. But I've been studying up on Dekendi Three. You'd be surprised at the depth of information in the Vulcan Database."

The comm officer laughed wryly. "I would indeed if it actually gives an opinion on the local cuisine."

Kyrin almost blushed. "I'll admit it didn't describe it as 'outstanding', but it did say the food was 'quite flavorful and pleasant'. That's high praise coming from a Vulcan."

"It is at that." Liam smiled broadly. "It sounds perfect."

The mess hall door opened at that moment and Malcolm and Trip entered. Each grabbed a mug and Trip placed his under the drinks dispenser. "Coffee, black and hot." The mug began to fill.

"I can't believe you shut off the alarm before I ever woke up," hissed Malcolm under his breath. They'd overslept and were running late.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Trip apologized for the umpteenth time. He collected his drink and moved aside so his lover could order his usual cup of Assam tea. "I don't even remember shutting it off. Are you absolutely sure it was set?"

Malcolm gave him a stern look. "Yes." He picked up his tea and headed to the buffet of food.

Trip followed closely, still speaking in a low tone. "Well it's not like either of us is gonna be late for our shifts."

"No," conceded Malcolm, claiming a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Without waiting for the engineer, he headed toward an empty table. Trip grabbed a pecan sticky bun and a handful of napkins and quickly joined him.

"Then why are you still mad?" he asked, sitting.

Malcolm finally relented. "I'm not. I'm just a bit out of sorts because I didn't get to shower. You know I don't like having to go through the day" He gave his lover a significant look, willing him to understand what he meant.

Trip knew immediately. "Smelling like sex?" he asked playfully.

"Yes!"

The younger man couldn't help but grin lecherously. "I like it. It's kind of like I've staked my claim in case there's still someone around who doesn't know you're taken."

"Thank you," replied Malcolm sarcastically. "That's charming."

"If it makes you feel better, I smell like you." Trip took a sensual bite of his pastry, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh that's worlds better."

"C'mon, Malcolm. Lighten up," Tucker said once he'd swallowed the bite.

Reed sighed. "I'm sorry. But you don't have to work with T'Pol."

"Let's forget about it, okay? What do you want to do when we get to Dekendi Three?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Malcolm admitted. "Won't you be working on installing the new microscope?"

"That won't take every minute. We'll have plenty of time to visit the planet."

"In that case, I'll see if I can't come up with something." The dark-haired man smiled for the first time since they'd risen that morning. "Goodness knows you can't be trusted to make shore leave plans."

"One little mugging!" protested Trip but he laughed good-naturedly, knowing that if Malcolm was teasing him everything was once again okay. "You gotta agree it was an eventful shore leave."

"Yes, well, _I'll_ pick the 'events' this time if you don't mind."

"That's fine by me. I'm looking forward to whatever you come up with."

"You just get that microscope working so we have plenty of free time," Malcolm said in a teasingly strict tone.

"It'll be a snap. Phlox's wife is coming aboard to work on it and she's an expert. Shouldn't take us long at all to get it working. I'm sure it'll be a routine job."

*****

No matter how he rehearsed the scene in his head, it never ended well. Tucker walked quickly away from sickbay, past the first turbolift, and around a corner. He made several more turns until he felt he was far enough away to be safe. He stopped in a corridor in the crew quarters section of E-deck and hailed a lift.

A door opened behind him, and Trip jumped and spun around. "Oh! Hey, Mae," he said, hoping his greeting sounded more nonchalant to her than it did to him. His hopes were dashed by one look at her expression.

"Hey, Commander," the off-duty ensign replied curiously. "What're you doing in this neighborhood?"

"Justtaking the scenic route back up to B-deck," he answered half truthfully. He glanced anxiously toward the lift door, willing it to open. It didn't.

"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask you about something."

"Huh?" He turned back to Lawless distractedly.

"I understand you're in charge of picking tomorrow's movie?"

Tucker's eyes widened. "Damn! I forgot!"

Mae saw her opportunity and grabbed it. "If you don't have anything picked out yet, I have a suggestion."

"Great!" Trip exclaimed as the lift finally arrived. He stepped inside.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Lawless asked quickly before he could disappear.

"I'm sure it's fine. Just get it confirmed on the schedule, okay? Then let me know. Thanks!" He smiled and gave a brief wave as the door closed, separating him from the ensign.

Mae stood there, staring bemusedly at the lift door. Then she grinned. "Right on," she said to herself in satisfaction.

In the lift Trip was still going over what he was going to say when he saw Malcolm. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation he was sure would come. Briefly he considered going to his quarters and asking Malcolm to join him there, but he decided against it. Better to go directly to Reed's cabin as previously arranged and talk there. The armory officer would be less likely to go on the defensive in the psychological comfort of his own space.

The turbolift stopped on B-deck and Trip stepped out. He'd been in such a hurry to get away from sickbay; now he was hesitant to go any farther. He found himself walking more and more slowly toward his lover's cabin.

All too soon he reached the door. He knew Malcolm was inside; they'd planned to meet there and go to dinner together. He almost rang the chime but stopped himself, realizing it would only start the scene off on an odd note if he rang the bell instead of just entering where he had been told he was always welcome. Steeling himself, he opened the door and went inside.

Malcolm smiled as he looked up from the computer. "Hello!" he said happily, rising to meet Trip.

"Hey," said the engineer. He hesitated only two steps into the cabin.

Reed met him where he stood. "It's good to see you. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Almost."

"Almost?" echoed Malcolm.

"Yeah." Trip moved away, not meeting his inquisitive gaze. Malcolm frowned in puzzlement. "There's something I've gotta tell you."

"You make it sound dire," commented Reed. Worry laced his tone as he asked the younger man, "Is something wrong?"

Trip heard it and was quick to reassure him. "No! Nothing's wrongexactly."

"Then what?"

Tucker inhaled and let the breath out slowly, facing his lover once more. "It's Feezal. Phlox's wife, you know?"

"I've not met her, but yes, I know who she is." Reed was even more confused now. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"You know how I've been working with her to install that neutron microscope this afternoon?"

"Yes."

All Trip's practicing on the way there wasn't helping him at all. "Well, we've been working pretty closely" he began and then trailed off, thinking hard.

"And?" prompted Malcolm. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Tucker's reply.

"AndI think she's"

"She's what?" Reed's heart raced. Trip's manner and halting words put him on edge. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now.

"She's been hitting on me," blurted Trip at last.

Dead silence fell in the cabin.

Malcolm's shocked mind processed Trip's announcement.

Trip waited anxiously for Malcolm's response to his confession.

It was Reed who broke the silence. He erupted in laughter. "She _what_?" he exclaimed through gasping guffaws.

Tucker couldn't help but be drawn into his partner's mirth. He nodded, chuckling uncertainly. "Uh-huh." He leaned back against the nearby bank of drawers, taking strength from its cool, solid surface. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined, this wasn't one of them.

"You're joking!"

"Uh-uh." Trip shook his head.

It only made Malcolm laugh harder. He sat on his bunk, unable to remain upright in his hilarity. "What makes you think so?"

"I think I know the signs, Malcolm!" countered Trip, his amusement growing with the armory officer's. "She keepsbrushing up against me while we're working, finding excuses to reach around me. She keeps sniffing me!"

The last sent both men into paroxysms of laughter. It took several moments for it to subside to where they could once again speak.

"Does Phlox know?" the lieutenant asked eventually, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"I don't think so," Tucker answered, regaining his breath.

"Good. Keep it that way."

"Huh?"

Reed was serious now. "Don't tell him. Just because Denobulans are accustomed to polygamous marriages doesn't mean he'd be thrilled to hear one of his wives was coming onto you."

"But, Malcolm," Trip protested, "I've got to tell him!"

"No, you don't."

"Of course I do! I owe him that much respect at least!"

"Don't do it," advised Reed more firmly.

"Okay, what if I don't? What if I don't but he finds out anyway? From her or fromI don't know."

"Does anyone else know?" Trip just shook his head. "Then don't worry about it. She's hardly likely to mention it herself, I imagine."

"But it's gonna take a couple more days to get that microscope installed and calibrated and all. What am I supposed to do?" Trip wailed.

Malcolm rose and crossed the room to stand before the engineer. He put a comforting hand on Tucker's arm. "Love, as long as you don't act on her advances, it's really not my concern," he said, fighting back another wave of laughter at his lover's plight.

Trip's face fell. "You're a big help."

Reed grinned. "You're a grown man. I think you can handle it." When he saw that Trip obviously wasn't satisfied, he suggested, "What would the captain say in the circumstances?"

"I know just what he'd say," Tucker answered with a grimace.

"What?"

Trip met Malcolm's gaze and sighed. "Suck it up and deal."

*****

Cormack and Fraser stood on the street corner and tried desperately not to look like the tourists they were. It was _Enterprise_'s first day in orbit of Dekendi Three where the Interspecies Medical Exchange was hosting a conference. The entire crew was free to visit the planet during off-duty hours. The women had donned their civvies and were taking advantage of a free evening to explore the alien city.

After two hours of mostly window-shopping with a little real shopping thrown in, they decided it was time for a break. Shifting her purchases to one hand, Stephanie looked around and then consulted the map she'd downloaded into a datapad before leaving the ship. "Okay, we're here," she began, nodding at a blinking point on the small screen. Bonnie leaned over her shoulder to see. "And according to the Vulcan Database's info on the area the plaza or piazza or whatever where we're supposed to meet the others for dinner is" She thumbed a key and the screen shifted slightly. "two blocksthat way." The women looked up and off to their right.

"Cool," said Bonnie. "How long until we're supposed to meet up?"

"Hang on." Another press of a button and the ship's time appeared in the corner of the screen. "Oh we're good. We've still got nearly forty-five minutes. We could even go for a walk along that little lake we saw earlier and make it back in plenty of time."

"D'you remember where that was?" Fraser was doubtful.

"No, but I marked it on the map so we could find it again. If we didn't go today, I figured we could go tomorrow." The blonde gave her companion a look that was hopeful and a little sly. She was thrilled to be with Bonnie, out of uniform, and off the ship. She aimed to spend as much time as humanly possible in exactly that way while _Enterprise_ was at Dekendi Three. "The lake is this way," she added, glancing at the datapad and then pointing across the road. The pair crossed the street and continued walking in the direction indicated on the map.

Bonnie smiled widely. "Planning ahead, eh?"

Stephanie's smiled mirrored the helmsman's. "I try." Then her smile wavered. "You do want to come back tomorrow, right?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

"Sure." Then Bonnie's face fell and she exclaimed, "Oh! We can't."

"Why not?"

"I promised Mae I'd go to movie night tomorrow."

"What?" Stephanie's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What's so big about tomorrow's movie night?"

"She was going to try to get them to run some cheesy old horror movie. She thought we could have a bit of a chicks' night."

Recollection dawned on the armory ensign. "Ah. Right. I forgot."

"Come with me to the movie?" asked Bonnie hopefully. "I'll buy the popcorn."

"Yes on the movie. No on the popcorn. But you could buy me dessert tonight?"

Fraser smiled. "Deal."

They stopped at an intersection and checked the map once more. "Left," announced Stephanie. "Besides," she said, continuing their conversation, "we have a few days and nights here." There was a slight hesitation before she added cautiously, "It's just too bad we have to go back to the ship every night, eh?" She avoided looking at the woman beside her, pretending to study the map as they walked. Stephanie was unsure how Bonnie would take her comment. They'd only been dating a few weeks. Despite the helmsman's flirtatious nature and the signs she was sure she'd been getting, Stephanie didn't know how far Bonnie would go or how quickly.

It was a good thing she kept her gaze averted because Fraser's expression was suddenly serious. She knew what Cormack was implying and as much as she wanted it, she wasn't ready to deal with what she had to do first. Memories of their one-night stand years ago, completely forgotten by Stephanie, and the promise Bonnie had made to herself regarding the incident leapt to the helmsman's mind. She beat them back and tried to keep her tone light when she replied. "Yeah. It's a bummer."

*****

"Whose idea was this movie?" murmured Liz to Bonnie who sat beside her on the Rec. Center bench.

"Whose do you think?" the helmsman replied just as softly, tipping her head in Mae's direction just in front of her.

"Ah."

Mae overheard them and leaned back, whispering, "It's a classic. Lugosi and Karloff were masters."

"You just keep thinking that," replied Bonnie.

On Liz's other side, Travis bit back a chuckle at their chatter.

Several minutes passed before Liz spoke again. "You'll never believe what happened at dinner tonight," she breathed so only her companions could hear.

Bonnie's interest was piqued. "What?"

"Phlox's wife was flirting with Commander Tucker."

"What!?"

"Shh!" A crewman in the row ahead of them shushed them in annoyance.

"Sorry," said Liz and Bonnie almost simultaneously, then immediately stifled their giggles at being caught.

They could only stay silent so long, however.

"So what happened?" whispered Bonnie even more softly than before.

"I didn't see it, but Hoshi told me about it. She was having dinner with the commander tonight, and Feezal sat down with them. She and Hoshi started talking in Denobulan, and Tucker got nervous. You know what it's like when people speak a foreign language and keep glancing at you?" Bonnie nodded and Liz continued. "Well, Feezal said they were talking about how handsome he is."

"No!"

"Yes! Denobulans are polygamous, remember. I guess that doesn't preclude dating outside their species, too."

"Dating or mating," quipped Bonnie under her breath.

Liz had to stifle another snicker. "Yeah, but I bet Lieutenant Reed would have something to say on the subject of her dating—or mating—Commander Tucker."

Bonnie peered cautiously through the relatively small movie-going crowd to where Tucker and Reed sat near the front. The men sat close to one another, sharing a bowl of popcorn in apparent contentment. "Everything looks okay from here," she announced softly.

"Then the lieutenant must not know," asserted Liz with certainty.

Travis leaned in from his seat next to Liz. He'd finally had enough of their gossiping. While he couldn't deny it was interesting listening, he felt like they'd crossed a line. "Maybe," he suggested with quiet censure, "it's not any of our business, either."

From the other side of Bonnie, Stephanie overheard him and had to agree. While she'd enjoyed the chatter thoroughly, she'd refrained from participating. It really wasn't any of their business. That didn't mean she wouldn't make it hers. After all she'd seen Feezal, if only briefly. In her opinion the Denobulan woman was quite pretty. But more worrying than that, she was short and blonde—just the type to which Tucker had admitted being attracted in the past. Stephanie nodded to herself. She would definitely have to follow up on this rumor.

Bonnie saw the movement and determined expression out of the corner of her eye. She leaned in closely to Stephanie and whispered in her ear. "What are you plotting?"

"Plotting?" answered the blonde woman too innocently. She wouldn't meet her date's eyes. She popped a soft, chocolate-covered mint in her mouth, hoping to avoid further discussion.

"Don't get involved," warned Fraser uselessly. _Damn. Liz and I shouldn't've been gossiping._ She knew the woman next to her well enough to know her words were falling on selectively deaf ears. Still, she tried again. "We were just gabbing. You know Tucker wouldn't act on it even if the woman _was_ hitting on him. And you don't know she was."

"You're right. I have no evidence that Feezal was hitting on Trip."

Stephanie's whisper carried a tone Bonnie couldn't pinpoint, but it made her uneasy nonetheless. She wanted to know what her companion was up to, but she didn't push it. When Stephanie made up her mind to do something, there was no dissuading her. Bonnie just hoped she hadn't made up her mind to do something stupid.

"We're still on for going to the surface tomorrow, right?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Finally Stephanie looked at her and gave her a genuine smile. "Absolutely."

Bonnie smiled back, thinking danger was averted. "Good."

*****

Cormack and Fraser had the whole day off duty, and they would be catching a shuttle to the surface at 1000 hours. But there was something Stephanie had to do first.

She stopped by sickbay immediately after breakfast. She claimed to have slept strangely and woken with a bit of a headache, which wasn't entirely untrue. As Phlox examined her, she kept an eye on Feezal and Tucker across the room. They were allegedly calibrating the neutron microscope, but they seemed awfully close to one another in her opinion. Phlox appeared not to notice.

"One moment, Ensign," the physician said. He left her momentarily to prepare a hypo with a mild analgesic.

Stephanie continued to watch Tucker and Feezal, and what she saw displeased her. The rumor that the Denobulan woman had been flirting with Trip was indisputably confirmed as Stephanie saw her rub one hand suggestively along Tucker's back and down to his rear-end. Cormack was about to interrupt—rather loudly—but Tucker was quicker. He sidled swiftly away from Feezal. His movement turned him just enough that Cormack was able to make out his expression. It was a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. He was obviously unsettled by Feezal's attentions.

The ensign relaxed and smiled slightly. _Nothing to worry about there,_ she thought positively. She was relieved. Now she could enjoy her day off with Bonnie without having any worries about her friends niggling at the back of her mind.

Phlox returned at that moment. "Here you are." He pressed a hypo against Cormack's neck, releasing the painkiller into her system. She flinched instinctively, but inside she knew it was a small price to pay for the piece of mind she'd also gotten from her visit.

She smiled at Phlox, surprising him. "Thanks, Doc." She hopped off the diagnostic bed and left sickbay.

*****

Instead of shopping as they had on their previous visit, on this trip Bonnie and Stephanie stuck strictly to sight-seeing. There were all sorts of things to marvel at in the city and the surrounding area. About mid-morning, they took a transport out of town to the surrounding countryside. Bonnie was particularly excited to have time in the open air, having drawn a short straw the previous year when _Enterprise_ had visited Risa.

They spent the morning hiking in a nature reserve several kilometers outside the city. Towering coniferous trees shadowed well-worn trails throughout the preserve. Despite the obvious upkeep of the area, they'd not seen another sentient being all morning. Small mammals chittered in the concealing underbrush, and every now and then birds sang back and forth in the tall trees. The women stopped and stood very still, taking in the sounds, smells, and sights around them. 

"Damn, I've missed fresh air," sighed Bonnie softly. The beauty around her was almost overwhelming, and a wave of homesickness washed over her. A breezed touched them, blowing her hair into her face. She absently tucked her short auburn curls behind her ears.

"And evergreens," agreed Stephanie. "I miss my trees, you know? Green is my favorite color."

It was a warm day, but the shade of the trees kept the forest floor cool. Stephanie shivered and zipped up her jacket.

"Cold?" asked Bonnie, looking at her companion.

"Just a little. I'll warm up when we start walking again." She slipped an arm around the taller woman's and snuggled in close to her. "Or you could keep me warm," she suggested coyly.

Bonnie extricated her arm and then wrapped both around the blonde. She rubbed her hands briskly up and down Stephanie's back, causing her to sigh contentedly.

"Mmm. Much better." Cormack leaned into Fraser, returning her embrace and enjoying the soft warmth her body radiated.

Bonnie stopped rubbing and the two women stood for several minutes in silence, holding one another. It was a nearly perfect moment, and Fraser wanted to hang onto it as long as she could—if only that little voice in the back of her head would stop reminding her that she still hadn't come clean with Stephanie about their shared past.

Finally the helmsman reluctantly pulled away from her companion. "We should start back," she said regretfully.

"What's the rush?" murmured Stephanie. She slipped her hands inside Bonnie's open jacket and ran them over the soft cotton of her shirt around to her back. Stephanie let her chest rest once more against Bonnie's, wishing she hadn't zipped up her coat earlier. _Twenty-twenty hindsight,_ her mind chided lightly.

Bonnie searched frantically for a reason to take them away from this place and remove herself from the temptation of the blonde in her arms. "It's going to take a while to walk back to the transport pick-up point. And we have to catch the next one if we want to get back to town in time to have dinner before going back to _Enterprise_," Bonnie reminded her hurriedly. Her hands rested on Stephanie's hips as the blonde continued to massage her back gently. Stephanie nuzzled at Bonnie's neck, every now and then kissing her lightly, and Fraser found it more and more difficult to concentrate.

"I'm not hungry for food," murmured Stephanie, nipping at Bonnie's earlobe playfully. Her hands crept lower to the waist of Bonnie's hiking pants and down into her back pockets. She massaged the helmsman's buttocks playfully through the lightweight fabric.

All of Bonnie's arguments for returning right away were fading fast. There were limited transports back to town. They needed to be at the pick-up point on time or they'd have to wait an extra two and a half hours for the next shuttle. She still hadn't told Stephanie the truth. She'd made a promise But it was beautiful there, and she really didn't want to leave. Stephanie's actions excited her, encouraging her to throw away the constraints of responsibility and get it on right there on the forest floor. Fraser was torn, fighting her reservations and the promise she'd made to herself. Stephanie's words and actions suggested something Bonnie had wanted for many months; the added bonus of being on an alien world in a secluded, sylvan setting was almost too much.

When Stephanie slid her hands up under Bonnie's shirt, the helmsman knew she couldn't resist any more. She kissed Stephanie gently at first, then with growing passion. She caught the blonde woman's bottom lip and nibbled it lightly, eliciting a low murmur of approval from Stephanie.

They separated long enough to find a relatively clear area free of rocks and undergrowth. Only a light scrub-grass covered the ground.

"It's not real flat," said Bonnie in a brief flash of uncertainty.

"It'll do," answered Stephanie breathlessly. She had already removed her jacket and tossed it down. Her nipples were hard from arousal and the sudden chill of the lost layer of clothing. Bonnie sucked in a breath, impatient to taste the nubs hidden under the thin fabrics of Stephanie's shirt and bra. "Besides," the blonde continued with a seductive look, "you don't need to worry about it. You'll be on top."

*****

Kyrin Douglas left the lecture hall for the cool evening air outside. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the conference and had learned a great deal about several new psychological studies. This was his third seminar in two days. The focus of this one had been on the problems experienced by individuals who'd had to adapt to long-term stays in alien societies, whether by choice or necessity. It was a fascinating topic, and one in which he had particular interest. He hoped that, should Phlox or T'Pol ever need his assistance in this area, his studies at the conference would be of help.

He tucked his datapad of notes into a pocket of his uniform, then stretched, inhaling the fresh air. A quick check of the time brought a smile to his handsome face. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. He had just enough time for a pleasant walk to the shuttleport before the evening shuttle from _Enterprise_ arrived bearing his partner, Liam. It would be the first time they'd been off the ship together since shore leave on Risa, and Kyrin couldn't wait. He'd done a great deal of research on the area and found what he'd determined to be the most romantic restaurant in the city. He set off toward the port with a bounce in his step.

Shuttlepod Two arrived only two minutes after Kyrin. It took a few minutes for the crewmembers to go through Dekendi disembarkation procedures and the psychiatrist waited impatiently. When Liam finally emerged into the reception area, Kyrin met him with a huge smile and a warm kiss, which the comm ensign returned with enthusiasm.

"You must have had a good day," quipped Liam with a grin.

"It was fabulous, and made even more so by your presence," Kyrin answered emphatically.

Liam laughed. "You know all the clever things to say, don't you?"

"Only when they're true."

"I brought you some civvies like you asked," said the younger man. He held up the small silver case he carried. "But I don't know where y'expect to change into them."

But Kyrin's research hadn't been limited to restaurants. "This way," he said, taking the case. "This is a major transport hub for the entire planet," he continued as they walked. "There are restrooms, showers, and dressing rooms where weary travelers can refresh themselves."

"You're a thinker," replied Liam with another broad grin. "That's one of the things I love about you."

Kyrin returned the grin. "Wait until you see what I've thought up for dinner."

*****

Liam Donnelly wasn't the only person who arrived on the evening transport from _Enterprise_. Tucker and Reed were also taking advantage of the chance for R&R off the ship. It was their last night in orbit, and this was their first chance to visit the alien world.

Malcolm had made the plans for their evening. Remembering their ill-fated trip to Risa, and several other mishaps the two had experienced since, he'd decided not to leave it up to his lover. "This way," he said, directing Trip toward a stand where they could catch transportation to their destination.

"You're still not going to tell me where we're going, are you?" asked Trip, following him. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets in mild consternation.

"No."

"Come on, Malcolm—"

"No," repeated Reed. He hailed a green hoverpod—identified in the Vulcan Database as the equivalent of a local taxi system—and they got in. Malcolm gave the driver an address, pronouncing the alien words with confidence and precision, and they sped off into the growing dusk.

"You got Hoshi to teach you that, didn't you?" remarked Trip with a small smile.

"I did," his lover affirmed pleasantly.

The lights of the city came on little by little. By the time they reached their destination, the sky was dark but the streets were illuminated by myriad lights, giving the square where they stopped a festive air. Malcolm thanked their driver, paid him, and then he and Trip stepped out of the cab.

Tucker looked around. They stood in a large plaza, open at the corners for traffic such as theirs, and sided by stone buildings housing shops and restaurants. While the architecture looked decidedly old, the windows of all the shopfronts were new and welcoming. Several people of a variety of species were coming and going from the various establishments. It was obviously a popular part of town.

"We're going to that one," said Malcolm, pointing to a cozy looking restaurant at the end of the block. A hand-painted sign over the door said something in the native language. Tucker was a little dubious, but he trusted Reed to have done his homework before selecting the place.

They entered the restaurant and were greeted by a soft-spoken, smiling woman of unfamiliar species. "Good evening," she said.

"Good evening," replied Malcolm. "Reservations for two."

"Under what name?"

"Reed."

The hostess checked her list and smiled at the men once more. "This way." 

Trip remained doubtful. There were no tables he could see, only narrow corridors lined with curtained nooks. But Malcolm seemed unconcerned, so he kept his doubts to himself as the hostess led them down the strange, winding hallways. They arrived at a secluded booth and he realized that was what they had passed all along the way. The curtains hid the booths, providing privacy to the restaurant's diners. The floor of the booth where they stopped was raised about fifty centimeters from that of the restaurant, and a low table stood in the center at just the right height for the servers to set their orders down without having to bend over. Trip was impressed by the ingenuity, although he wasn't really keen on the idea of sitting on the floor to eat dinner. _Still,_ he thought, _when in Rome_

The men sat on soft cushions on the booth's floor and the hostess placed menus before them.

"Enjoy your meal." She closed the draperies around them and wafted away, leaving them to ponder their dinner choices. Malcolm withdrew his scanner and downloaded the menu into it. He quickly ran it through his Universal Translator. A fair number of the words didn't translate, being local foods with no exact Earthly equivalents, but it was enough to give them an idea of what was there.

"What do you see?" asked Trip. Having finally gotten his long legs folded into a comfortable position, he leaned in across the table to peer at the readout.

"A lot, but not everything. I have an idea." Malcolm handed the translation over to his partner and continued. "Why don't we order the local beer and then see what the waitstaff recommends to go with it? There's a description of something there that sounds remarkably like Guinness."

Trip perused the menu for a moment but finally gave up. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he agreed. He sat back and looked around. The walls of the booth were covered in soft fabric that complemented the carpet and the cushions perfectly. The lighting was low enough to provide a romantic atmosphere without being so dim you couldn't read the menu. He liked it. "This is a real nice place."

"And we have the booth all evening," replied Malcolm. "No one will bother us unless we page them." His implication was obvious in his suggestive tone and licentious look.

"Is that so?" Trip knew his lover had a taste for sexual encounters that involved a bit of risk, but this little divulgence surprised him.

"It is. I chose this place for a number of reasons—one of them being their reputation for discretion."

Trip grinned. "I'm leaving all the shore leave planning to you from now on!" he declared happily.

Unbeknownst to them, another pair of _Enterprise_ crewmembers arrived only minutes later. Kyrin and Liam were led to a similar booth in a different corner of the restaurant. 

"This place is swank," Liam commented quietly once they were alone. "No wonder you wanted to wear something besides your uniform."

"One of the reasons," Kyrin agreed. He crossed his legs under the low table, unaccustomed to sitting on the floor. "Shall we ask for a recommendation?" he asked, eyeing the alien menu a little uncertainly.

The comm officer shrugged. "We could, but I've been studying up on the local dialect. You trust me?" He smiled sweetly at his date.

Kyrin returned the smile warmly. "Implicitly."

*****

The last shuttlepod back to _Enterprise_ was delayed. Liam and Kyrin sat together in one corner opposite Malcolm and Trip. All four men were relaxed and content, having consumed delicious repasts and copious alcohol. They'd run into each other—almost literally—outside the restaurant where they'd dined. The drinks both couples had consumed made the meeting far less awkward than it might otherwise have been, and they all chuckled knowingly at one another as they shared a hoverpod back to the shuttleport.

Crewman Rostov was at the shuttle's helm, waiting. He checked the time and shook his head.

"Shouldn't we be headin' back?" asked Trip a bit more loudly than he'd intended. He always got a little loud when he was drunk, and he was self-aware enough to know he was drunk. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more sober as he continued. "Are we waitin' f'r someone?" He glanced at Malcolm as if he'd know the answer. The smirk on his lover's face told him his sober act had been unconvincing.

"Yes, sir," answered Rostov, valiantly ignoring the fact that everyone else there outranked him, and they were all three sheets to the wind. "There should be two more coming." He checked the time again. "But they're late."

At that moment, two figures appeared at the gateway to the launch pad. They sprinted toward the pod and practically fell into it, gasping and laughing. It was Fraser and Cormack. Stephanie was the first to recover and rose enough to close the hatch in the pod's side. "Whew! In just under the wire!" she declared.

"Actually, ma'am," said Rostov, "you're six minutes late."

Bonnie snorted. "Whoops!" The two women burst into laughter once more, and the drunken officers joined in.

Rostov just shook his head and opened a comm to the port control. "_Enterprise_ shuttle requesting permission to leave."

"In your own time," came the reply.

Rostov couldn't be sure, but he though he heard sarcasm in the alien port controller's voice. "Thank you." He closed the comm and calmly took the shuttlepod out. _I just hope none of them gets sick between here and home,_ he thought fervently. _I do _not_ want to have to clean it up!_

Bonnie leaned against the back of Rostov's seat. "Sorry we were late," she apologized, chuckling. "We kind oflost track of time." She and Stephanie exchanged a look and the helmsman wiggled her eyebrows. Cormack just smirked and raised a single eyebrow in return. It only made Bonnie laugh harder.

"Let me guess," giggled Liam, slowly focusing on the two women, "you were attacked by the local plant life and only just managed to escape with your lives."

Stephanie was amused but puzzled. She looked at him questioningly. "Eh?"

Trip's deeper chuckle joined Liam's laughter. "There's twigs in your hair, Ensign," he informed her with a knowing smirk.

"Oh." Cormack blushed and ran a hand over her wild curls, pulling out a tiny stick and dislodging numerous evergreen needles—to the great mirth of the men.

"I never thought I'd live to see you blush!" exclaimed Tucker too loudly. Malcolm tried to shush him, but he was laughing too hard to be effective.

"Lock it in your memory," countered Stephanie, doing her best to maintain her dignity. "You're not likely to get another view."

Only Bonnie didn't join in the hilarity. She remained stiff and silent amidst the laughter. Her smile never wavered, but it no longer touched her eyes. _Shit! I still haven't told her!_ Her panicked eyes scanned the occupants of the shuttlepod. _And I sure as hell can't tell her here. Now what am I gonna do?_

*****

_Enterprise_ left orbit of Dekendi Three early the next day. They stayed only long enough to see Phlox's wife delivered safely back to the planet. There was a rumor that during their stay Phlox had been banned from attending the conference after the first day. Supposedly Archer had gone down to argue on his behalf, but without success.

Liz and Hoshi discussed the matter over lunch. "I can't imagine Phlox doing anything to get himself banned from the conference!" declared Cutler.

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Hoshi replied defensively. "I was hoping you could tell me whether or not it was true."

"I don't know. But I can't _imagine_—"

Sato cut off the coming tirade. "I know. But I also know he didn't go down there at all after the first day, and the Captain had at least one meeting with the Vulcans who hosted the conference. Are you sure you haven't heard _anything_?"

Liz despondently shook her head. "Nothing."

"Commander Tucker was in sickbay a lot the past few days," suggested Hoshi. "Maybe he knows something."

"You think maybe he overheard something? Or maybe Feezal knows what happened and told the Commander?"

Sato shrugged. "Maybe. It might be worth asking." She glanced surreptitiously across the mess hall to where Tucker, Reed, Mayweather, and Young were eating lunch and chatting. She looked back at Liz. "You want to work on Travis? He might know something."

"I'll try." Cutler's doubt was obvious in her tone.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just don't think Travis will talk even if he has heard something. He wasn't overly thrilled with our little discussion at the movie the other night."

"Discussion?" Hoshi had been on the planet that evening and missed out on the conversation in question.

"I told him what you told meabout Feezal and the Commander."

Hoshi's eyes widened. "Liz!"

"The movie was that bad! I had to do something to stay entertained!" exclaimed Liz.

"So what happened?"

"So we stopped discussing it."

"Hmm." Hoshi was thoughtful. "I'm sure you can come up with something," she assured her friend at last. She glanced again at the table where the men sat. "I'll try talking to Ensign Young," she suggested suddenly.

"Ensign Young?" Liz gave her a puzzled look before sneaking a quick glance at the ginger-haired armory ensign. "You really think he knows anything?"

Hoshi shrugged nonchalantly. "It's worth a try. Tucker might have said something to Lieutenant Reed, and he might have said something to Young. You never know."

"Hmm, I suppose. But if that's the case, he'd be more likely to mention it to Stephanie." The exobiologist thought her friend was way off base, but she was willing to try any avenue to find out whether there was any truth to the rumor of Phlox's banishment. At that thought, she came to an unexpected decision. "You try Ian; I'll try Phlox." 

"Phlox?" echoed Hoshi, shocked.

"When you want information, you might as well go to the source."

"But what if he gets angry that you're snooping?"

"I think I'm a bit more subtle than that," countered Liz. "I'll ask him this evening."

Sato was doubtful but made no further argument. "Good luck.

*****

Lawless stretched out on her bunk and opened her book. She called up her electronic marker and began reading where she'd left off the night before. It was snowing in the story, and the heroine had just taken her harp to the guitar-maker's shop when Mae was interrupted by Cormack's unexpected arrival.

"Hey," said Mae. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you." The cabin door had barely closed behind her when Stephanie pulled out the desk chair and turned it around. She sat straddling it, facing her friend, and crossed her arms over its back. Clearly this was to be a lengthy visit.

Mae placed a new marker in her book and set the datapad aside as she sat up. "Okay."

"Has Bonnie said anything to you about me?" Cormack demanded without preamble.

"Huh? No. Why?"

Stephanie gave a sigh of disappointment. "It's just" She hated this. She wasn't accustomed to worrying what someone else might be saying or thinking about her when she wasn't around, but this was an unusual situation. "We" She hesitated, trying to decide how much information was enough without going over the line. She decided to start simply with the events of that day; she would work her way back to the previous day only if absolutely necessary. "We were supposed to meet for a quick cup of coffee this afternoon. I had a break around 1400 hours, and she was going on duty when I came off later, so it was the only chance we were going to have to see each other today."

"Okay. So?"

"She didn't show up."

"That's weird."

"That's what I thought! I figured maybe she forgot, but that's not like her, you know?"

"Yeah," agreed Mae. "Did you hail her?"

"No. By the time I realized she wasn't coming, I had to get back to the armory." Cormack slumped forward, resting her chin on her forearms. "I left her a message, though. Nothing heavy. Just a 'missed you this afternoon' thing."

Mae shrugged. "That makes sense."

"I thought so, but she never replied."

Stephanie looked more and more frustrated and dejected as the conversation progressed. Mae wondered what was really going on inside the blonde woman's head. "She's probably having a busy shift," suggested Lawless. "She's in Stellar Cartography today, and they almost always have lots to do." She was puzzled as to what the problem was, but tried hard to be encouraging and helpful. "She probably hasn't seen the message yet."

"Yes she has. I got a confirmation when she picked it up."

"Okay. Maybe she's just really busy," Mae reiterated. "Why are you so freaked out? You've gone without talking to her for longer periods of time."

"Those times we hadn't—" Stephanie stopped herself. "Never mind."

"What?" Now Mae was beyond puzzled and into baffled. "What's going on?"

"You know that Too Much Information line you don't like people to cross?" Cormack answered question with question.

Lawless nodded. "Yeah."

"Answering that'd cross it."

"You?" The engineer's mind put the pieces of the puzzle together. Her eyebrows raised in shock as she guessed the full implication of her friend's words. "God damn," she breathed. "She told you."

"What?" Cormack frowned at her in confusion and sat up straighter. She hadn't expected a specific reaction, and her friend's response had come from completely off her radar. "Told me what?"

Too late Lawless realized her mistake. "Nothing."

"Liar. What the hell's going on?"

"Nothing!" insisted Mae, desperately feigning innocence. Inside, her mind was screaming at her. _Idiot! God damned idiot!!_ Lawless knew things Cormack didn't, and she hated keeping secrets from her best friend. In her sudden relief at believing she no longer needed to, she might have just ruined everything. She knew all about Fraser's decision regarding Cormack. The helmsman had promised herself, and made her bunkmate act as reluctant witness, that she wouldn't take her relationship with Stephanie to a physical level without first telling her about their drunken tryst of years ago. Stephanie's warning regarding the "TMI line" seemed to confirm that the two had taken the step into a sexual relationship, and Mae had logically assumed Bonnie'd stuck to her promise and told Stephanie the whole story. Now Mae was just confused. "What happened on the planet yesterday?" she asked finally.

"I told you you don't want to know."

"I know, I know. But I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"What why?"

"Why'd you change your mind?" Stephanie eyed her suspiciously.

"Can't I just be interested in your life?" It was lame and Mae knew it. Again she cursed herself inwardly.

Stephanie let it go. She was too angry to care about others' motives any more. She said snidely, "I'm surprised Bonnie didn't tell you already. Although considering how she's avoiding me now, maybe I shouldn't be."

"One missed engagement and an unanswered message don't mean she's avoiding you. And why the hell would she?"

Stephanie fixed the engineer with an angry sneer. "Oh I don't know. Maybe because we spent much of yesterday naked in an alien forest fucking like bunnies?"

Lawless visibly winced. She desperately wanted to cover her ears and start chanting la, la, la as she had when she'd first learned of Fraser's secret history with Cormack. But now was not the time. 

Cormack noticed her reaction and snorted derisively. "What? Didn't she tell you? I'd've thought she'd've been boasting all over the ship about her conquest."

"Stephanie!" snapped Mae, appalled. Her shock at what she'd just learned was overcome by her shock at Cormack's particularly bitter accusation. "She'd never do that!"

Stephanie took a deep breath, shoving her fury down. No matter how pissed off she was right now, she knew Mae was right. "No," she agreed finally. "You're right. I'm totally overreacting." Her expression was resolute, but her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." Mae tried to reassure her friend, but she had doubts. It was obvious Stephanie still didn't know about the one-night stand despite everything that had happened. The engineer had the sinking feeling Bonnie really was avoiding her. "You want me to let you know when she gets in tonight? It'll be late, but I can call you."

The blonde considered the offer in angry silence. "No. I'm not going be one of those clingy, dependent losers who waits by the comm for her girlfriend to call. Bonnie knows where I am. She'll find me when she's ready." She rose sharply. "I'll see you for breakfast." She left the cabin as abruptly as she'd arrived.

Mae was left in impotent frustration. Her instinct was to find Bonnie immediately and determine if she really was avoiding Stephanie. What Mae would do if she was, the engineer didn't know. She wanted to smack the helmsman up one side and down the other, but it was a good bet that would only make things worse.

She let out an aggravated sigh and snarled, "Shit."

*****

Liz entered sickbay with a determined stride. She hesitated only slightly when she saw Ensign Cohn was there inventorying the supplies they'd picked up at Dekendi Three; she wouldn't be alone with Phlox to question him. Undaunted, she simply adjusted her plan and forged ahead.

"Hi, Ari," she said pleasantly.

The slim, dark-haired man glanced up from his datapad. "Hi," he replied before returning to his work.

"Ah, Liz!" Phlox appeared from behind a bank of equipment and smiled at the new arrival. "What brings you here? Are you feeling all right?"

She returned his smile. "I'm fine."

"Then to what do I owe the pleasure?" he continued.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about something." She moved to the port research station, trying to get as far from Cohn as possible without it being obvious. She didn't want anyone overhearing her.

"Yes?" Phlox followed her over.

"There's thisridiculous rumor," she began, trying to sound nonchalant. Now that the moment had come, she was a little worried about how he might react.

"About?" prompted the Denobulan. He was certain he knew the answer, but he wanted to find out more about the rumor going around the ship.

Liz continued. "I heard you werebanned from attending the conference after the first day." Phlox's usually cheerful face darkened somewhat and Cutler's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean it's really true?" she blurted before she could stop herself.

"Yes, it is. Was that all?"

"But But _why_?"

"That's none of your concern, Ensign," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Yes, Doctor," replied Liz contritely. She put on a brave face and continued weakly, "At least that means you got to spend more time with your wife."

Phlox's expression was unchanged. "Yes. It does."

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Cutler's stomach as she remembered the topic of gossip at the movie just two nights before. _Oh no. He must have known! And he got himself banned on purpose so he could keep an eye on Feezal and the Commander!_ "I'd better go," she said aloud.

"Good evening, Ensign."

"Good evening." She quickly departed, not even sparing a good-bye glance for Ensign Cohn.

Phlox shook his head and chuckled to himself. He was fairly certain he'd effectively misguided Liz about the nature of his banishment. _That should keep her busy until she loses interest,_ he thought. He glanced over at Ari who was still working on the new supplies. "Human curiosity is a two-edged sword," Phlox declared, approaching him.

The medical assistant glanced up. He was bemused by the physician's unexpected words, but nodded. "I suppose it is," he agreed. "Why do you mention it?"

"No reason, Ensign. How's that inventory coming?"

*****

Cormack entered the gym. She was too wound up to sleep and she felt the need for some stress-relieving activity. Yoga wasn't going to cut it, but the punching bag looked inviting. She opened the small locker where there was a first-aid kit and extra supplies such as towels, chalk, and cloth tape. She pulled out a roll of the tape and took it to the bench. She took off her light sweater and tossed it down. Sitting on the bench, she removed her sneakers and wrapped tape around her bare feet and her hands. She wasn't thrilled about working out in her jeans, but the tank she wore was comfortable enough for a workout and she was too impatient to go back to her quarters to change her pants.

She did a perfunctory warm up and began vehemently assaulting the heavy bag. Before long a bright sheen of sweat covered her skin and blonde curls escaped her braid, clinging annoyingly to her face and neck. She cursed them under her breath, but let them be. It was another place to focus her anger, and on some level she was glad of it. She continued to mutter curses as she struck the punching bag, lashing out with fists and feet, elbows and knees. She fought dirty, but the bag didn't complain. She was completely unaware that she was still swearing, and she never noticed when tears began to mingle with the sweat that trickled down her face.

Stephanie sniffed and rubbed an arm across her forehead, then continued to strike out at the bag. As she pummeled it, her curses grew louder and her breathing shallower until she no longer had the breath to go on. With both hands, she stilled the swinging bag, pressing her wet cheek against its smooth surface. Slowly she slipped to the floor and sat gasping in air, choking back sobs that she'd not even known were there.

She angrily dashed the tears from her face. "This is bullshit," she declared furiously through gritted her teeth. "I will not behave like this. I am an adult, and I will act like one." She rose resolutely to her feet and crossed to the bench. Reclaiming her sweater and shoes, she strode purposely from the gym—and nearly collided with Malcolm just outside the door.

"Stephanie," he said, startled. He'd planned on a quick turn on the stationary bike before going to bed and was surprised to find anyone else using the gym at that hour.

"Lieutenant," was her tight-lipped reply.

He knew immediately something was wrong. Her appearance and demeanor alone were enough to tip him off, but her formal greeting was the absolute kicker. He expected she wouldn't say what had upset her, but it didn't stop him asking. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, sir. Excuse me." Before he could respond, she walked quickly away and disappeared around a corner.

Reed went after her. "Ensign," he called, catching sight of her down the cross-corridor.

Stephanie fought the urge to ignore him, pretend she hadn't heard and just keep walking. She forced herself to stop and wait for him to catch up.

Malcolm reached her and stood facing her. "What's wrong?" he asked, the concern in his blue eyes echoed in his voice.

"Bad day," answered Stephanie tersely.

He was certain it wasn't the whole story; she'd been fine on duty that morning. He tried to encourage her to go on, asking solicitously, "That's all?"

Stephanie pursed her lips and frowned, then she made a split-second decision. "You ever make a mistake that you thought was absolutely the right thing to do at the time?"

"I suppose so." Reed was puzzled but tried to answer honestly.

"I mean, it was _absolutely right_ at the time, but then the next day you suddenly discovered it was probably the most absolutely _wrong_ thing you could ever have done?" continued the ensign intensely.

"Yes."

He answered so genuinely this time that Stephanie paused and really looked at him. Her expression softened and her sadness suddenly turned outward, leaving a hollowness in its wake. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "That must have sucked."

Malcolm was at a complete loss. "Yes. You could say that." Unwelcome memories battered at his emotional walls, and he had more difficulty than usual beating them back.

Stephanie nodded. "Yeah. Good night." 

This time when she walked away, he didn't pursue her. Instead he hailed the nearest lift and rode it to B-deck. Once there it was a short walk to Trip's quarters, which he promptly entered.

Tucker smiled, surprised to see his lover. He set aside the report he'd been studying. "Hey, Malcolm. You done working out already?" he asked.

"I decided to bag it for tonight, actually," Malcolm replied.

Trip gave him a quizzical look. "Everything okay?"

"I just decided I'd rather be here with you than there alone."

There was an odd tone in his voice that Trip couldn't pinpoint, but not being one to question when good things came his way, he simply smiled again. "Sounds good to me."

*****

From a solitary spot at the far end of the mess hall, Ari Cohn surreptitiously regarded a table of three fellow ensigns. Cutler, Lawless, and Sato sat together as usual, but he could see they weren't their usual selves. The tension at the women's table was palpable even from his distant observation spot. He'd thought that morning might be a good chance to stop by and say hello. He knew Liz fairly well and was on friendly terms with Hoshi. It was time he branched out a little, in his opinion, and this ought to have been a perfect opportunity.

He watched as Liz said something and Mae subsequently passed her the pepper. Then the trio fell into awkward silence once more.

_Maybe tomorrow,_ thought Ari. _They don't look like they're much in the mood for company._ He sipped his coffee in contemplative silence and continued to watch the women out of the corner of his eye.

Mae, Liz, and Hoshi ate their breakfasts in awkward silence.

"Where's Bonnie this morning?" asked Liz. She'd expected the helmsman to be there.

"Bonnie's on Gamma shift today," replied Mae. It was true, but not the whole truth. Bonnie had requested to be put on the night shift. Mae kept that bit of information to herself, not knowing how much the others knew about the situation between Bonnie and Stephanie.

"Oh."

Another uncomfortable silence ensued, this time broken by Hoshi. "Liz, did you have a chance to talk to Doctor Phlox?"

"Yes," was Cutler's terse reply.

A thought occurred to Mae. "I wonder if the doc ever found out his wife was flirting with the Commander," she pondered.

"I don't know," Liz said too quickly.

Hoshi and Mae looked at the exobiologist, equally perplexed but for very different reasons. It was obvious to Sato that there was something behind Liz's behavior. _She must know something. Maybe Phlox's banning had something to do with his wife?_

"Did you talk to Ensign Young?" Liz countered, then abruptly realized it was the wrong thing to ask at that moment.

Hoshi looked down into her tea. "No." She wasn't about to tell her friend that she'd gotten cold feet. The excuse she'd had to talk to him had seemed reasonable when she'd voiced it to Liz, but when it came to it she knew it didn't hold water. She'd chickened out.

Silence fell again.

"So I thought Stephanie was joining us this morning," Mae said, hoping to find a topic they could actually discuss.

"She went on shift early. Some project or something she wanted to work on." Liz decided not to tell the others the real reason her bunkmate wasn't there; Stephanie hadn't wanted to chance running into Bonnie, so she'd grabbed a latté earlier and escaped to the armory.

"Oh."

Yet another silence descended like a heavy cloud. The three women sipped at their drinks, each caught up in her own thoughts, musings, and secrets.

_Damn,_ thought Mae, shifting uncomfortably and glancing down into her dwindling coffee. _All we need now is a paper cut-out monster saying 'Grr. Argh.' and a fade to black._

*****  
End Log 2:16  
_Completed 29 March 03  
Revised 6-7 May 03_

Continued in Log 2:17


	17. Log 2:17

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log Disclaimer**: Paramount's characters are theirs. My characters are mine. Ensign Ari Cohn is Squeaky Lightfoot's and is used with her kind permission. Isn't it nice how everyone gets along so well?

*****

**Log 2:17**: (Takes place immediately following 'A Gentlemen's Bet' and 'Payout' (which can both be found at www.dnashionalarchive.com), and during _Cease Fire_.)  
_Rating [R] - for language and suggestive situations_

*****

Hoshi stretched languorously and rolled onto her side in her bunk. Ian's pale eyes opened and he looked at her groggily for a split-second before smiling. "Morning," he said, suddenly fully awake. 

"Good morning," she replied, returning his smile easily.

He pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her. Her head was cushioned by the pillow and her dark hair pooled around her face, framing it. _Even first thing in the morning she's beautiful,_ he thought. "How did you sleep?"

"Mmm. Very well, thank you. You?"

"Fabulous." He grinned winningly.

"Good." She sat up, letting the covers fall away to reveal her small, firm breasts. She leaned in and kissed Ian sweetly, slowly. When she pulled back, her dark eyes met his fair ones and she smiled appreciatively. "I had a wonderful time on our date," she said huskily.

"So did I."

Still smiling, Hoshi slipped gracefully from the bunk and padded naked to the closet. Ian remained in the bed, enjoying the view of her gently swaying hips and perfectly shaped ass. He felt a twinge of disappointment as she withdrew a robe and slipped it over her narrow shoulders, tying it around her slim waist.

She turned around to face him. "I have to get moving," she informed him regretfully. "I'm on Alpha shift bridge duty."

"You can be a little late, can't you?" Ian shifted onto his back, resting his head on his folded arms. Even from where she stood across the cabin, Hoshi couldn't miss the profile of his erection tenting the sheet.

"I'm sorry. There's a staff meeting first thing this morning." Her tone was apologetic but final.

"It wouldn't take too long," he tried again.

She approached him, picking up the scattered pieces of his clothing as she went. She set them on her pillow. As she knelt on the bunk her robe gapped open tantalizingly, revealing a hint of the luscious flesh he'd so enjoyed the previous night. She leaned across the bed and whispered teasingly in his ear. "Where would be the fun in that?" Then she pushed away and stood straight, smiling down at a bewildered but still hopeful Ian. "Thanks. I had fun." Hoshi sashayed to the bathroom and closed the door.

A few moments passed and Ian wondered if she would come back. When she didn't and he heard the shower running, he realized he'd been dismissed. She expected him to be gone when she emerged. He lay there for several more seconds, refusing to believe it was true. _It's a joke,_ his mind insisted. _She's just teasing me. Trying to get me more worked up._ But as the shower continued to run, he knew he was only fooling himself. He had to admit it—she'd blown him off. It was tough to fathom, but as he rose and dressed in last night's civvies he knew it was true.

_Well okay. It was one night. That's cool. That's what you wanted, right? No strings. You've never liked clingy women._ But no matter how he tried to convince himself this was just another one-night fling, he knew it wasn't true. As he sat on the edge of the bunk to pull on his shoes, he remembered making love to Hoshi. For once he didn't think of it as having sex, but actually making love. Their bodies had meshed together so well, and he remembered how wonderful it had felt to wrap his arms around her as she moved on top of him.

The shower stopped abruptly, jerking him from his reverie. He stood. "Better go," he muttered disconsolately. He took one last look around Hoshi's quarters, wondering if he'd ever have the chance to share them again. Then he stepped out into the corridor, the soft whooshing of the closing door sounding funereal in its finality.

In her bathroom, Hoshi was stalling. She'd taken a little longer with her shower than normal, wanting to give Ian sufficient time to dress and depart. If he was still there when she came out, she was pretty sure she'd end up being late for her shift. She toweled herself off and dried her hair slowly, brushing through the long strands to remove the remaining tangles. She felt a pang of guilt about how she'd treated Ian but pushed it aside. _He was expecting a one-night stand,_ she reminded herself. She didn't know it for a fact, but judging from Young's past reputation and his recent behavior, she believed she was correct. _We both got exactly what we wanted last night,_ she concluded confidently.

She glanced to one side of the mirror at the chronometer set into the bulkhead. "Whoops!" she exclaimed. If she didn't hurry, she really would be late for the staff meeting. Crossing mental fingers that she was alone in her quarters, she stepped out of the bathroom.

The cabin was empty. Ian was gone.

A flush of disappointment surprised her with its intensity. She ignored it and quickly donned her uniform. Checking the time once more, she decided she had just enough leeway to grab tea and toast before going to the bridge.

*****

Archer and his Alpha shift bridge crew gathered around the strategy console in the situation room. Even Tucker was there that morning, curious to learn about what the ship's sensors had detected. 

T'Pol called up an image of a solar system. "This is the system we're currently approaching," she began. "There are four planets, including a gas giant with several natural satellites."

"That sounds uncomfortably familiar," said Tucker. His unscheduled adventure while testing shuttlepod auto-pilot upgrades was still all too clear in his memory. Reed nodded in agreement, and Archer gave both men an amused glance.

The Vulcan ignored them all and went on. "The third moon is uninhabited, although it has a breathable atmosphere and a climate not unlike that of the northeastern region of South America."

"Brazil," said Hoshi. "Do you mean it's like the rain forests of Brazil?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll stay home." The comm officer had fond memories of teaching in Brazil before joining _Enterprise_'s crew, but the fondness didn't extend to the local habitat.

Archer gave the young woman a sympathetic smile before turning his attention back to his science officer. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" he asked.

"I am suggesting that the moon may provide an opportunity to study a large number of plant and animal species," T'Pol confirmed.

"I'd guess that's a 'no'," muttered Tucker in a dry tone.

T'Pol continued, choosing once again to ignore the commander's comments. "With further study it might also prove a reasonable location for shore leave."

Trip tried to hide his look of surprise. He failed, garnering smirks from both Ensign Mayweather and Captain Archer. Lieutenant Reed refrained from responding, deciding instead to save the incident to tease his partner with later.

"Time to the system?" Archer asked.

"At current speed, two-point-three days."

Archer looked around the table at his officers, gauging their reactions to this news. Their expressions ranged from cautiously hopeful to barely suppressed excitement. He turned to Travis. "Lay in a course, Ensign," he said with a grin.

*****

"Ensign Bonnie Fraser, personal log: I suck. I broke a promise to myself, and if I can't even keep a promise I made to me, how the hell am I ever gonna keep a promise to someone else? I hurt Stephanie, and I haven't done a fucking thing to make it better. I don't know if I _can_ make it better." Bonnie paced the deck of her cabin as she talked, rarely looking up from the gray flooring. "Mae's gonna kill me. I'm sure Stephanie hates me. Not that I've talked to her to find out—I'm too fucking chicken-shit for that," she berated herself vehemently. She abruptly stopped moving and stood in the middle of the room, staring angrily at the bare wall. She was silent so long the computer eventually chirped at her, reminding her it was waiting for her to continue.

The fiery-tempered helmsman glared at the computer. "Pause recording," she spat. There was another chirp as it complied. She began pacing again, muttering to herself. "Fuck. This sucks. This sucks, and I'm a fucking idiot. Computer," she continued more loudly, "end recording and use encryption code caribou-lambda-two-seven."

A final chirrup from the computer confirmed her request had been followed.

Fraser flopped unceremoniously onto her bunk and stared at the ceiling. Minutes passed as she lay there, thinking, frowning, stewing. Impatiently she sat up again, ideas of working out her frustrations in the gym in her mind. She rose and went to her locker, but paused. "How much you want to bet Stephanie's there now?" she muttered to the empty room. She glanced at her bedside chronometer. _Yeah, bet she just got there, too, so it'll be an hour or more until she's gone. Huh. She's probably beating the hell out of the punching bag and wishing it was me at this very moment._ Caution and curiosity took her to the computer where she input a search for the armory ensign. Bonnie snorted derisively when she discovered her guess was at least partially right; Cormack was in the gym. "Okay. Fine." She returned to her locker and reached into the back. There in a dark corner was something she hadn't used in a long time.

Fraser pulled out the item and unrolled it onto the desk. It was about 125 centimeters long, twenty-five centimeters wide, and stood barely one centimeter high. When she'd gotten her assignment to _Enterprise_, she'd debated with herself long and hard about whether or not to bring the thing along. It took up a fair chunk of space even when rolled up, and how often did she expect to use it? Now, despite the fact she hadn't touched it in months, she was glad she'd elected to bring it on her tour of duty.

Bonnie sat in the chair and pulled it up to the desk. She tapped in the start code on the white and black keys, and the electronic keyboard responded by chiming middle-C three times. The thing didn't have the range or the overtones of a real piano, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing at all. Bonnie wiggled her fingers over the keys in anticipation and began a slow series of scales. She was painfully out of practice, but the even repetition of warm-up exercises was soothing and distracting all at once. Her thoughts calmed as her hands moved up and down the keyboard. Before long she moved smoothly from her warm-up into a simple song, then a more complex one, eventually losing herself in the complex brilliance of J.S. Bach's Goldberg Variations.

*****

Travis, Liz, and Hoshi sat together at a table in the mess hall. "I thought Mae and Stephanie were supposed to join us," Mayweather said as the trio tucked into their dinners.

"Mae got stuck in engineering and Stephanie's working out," answered Cutler.

"Again? That's the third time she's blown us off this week."

"I know."

"Is she all right?" asked Hoshi, concerned. "She's been pretty quiet since she and Bonnie had that fight. Do you have any idea what happened?" It was no secret Cormack and Fraser had had a falling out, but no one seemed to know exactly what had caused it.

Liz nodded reluctantly but remained silent. She had a very good idea what had happened. In fact she was fairly certain she knew more about it than anyone—aside from the two women who'd been there at the time. What she didn't know was why Bonnie had become so distant afterward.

Understanding dawned on Travis's face. "You can't say."

"No, I really can't."

"Is there anything we can do?" he asked, and Hoshi nodded her support.

The exobiologist gave them both a wan smile. "Maybe you could keep an eye on either of them when you're around them?"

"You're not worried Stephanie's going to do something?" Travis trailed off, his implication obvious.

"I don't know. I wouldn't have thought it six months ago, but it's still so soon after that whole horrible mess with her sister getting hurt." Liz paused, thinking, trying to put into words what she'd witnessed since the sudden, inexplicable split between her bunkmate and Bonnie. "Sometimes I think she's fine. She laughs; she gets angry. Normal stuff. But other times she justfunctions. It's as if she shuts down. Emotionally, I mean. It's almost Vulcan-like."

Hoshi nodded knowingly. "Which is fine if you're a Vulcan"

"But Stephanie is way too human for it to be fine for her," Liz finished.

"We'll keep our eyes open," the comm officer said, including Mayweather in her offer. "Travis and I have bridge duty with her tomorrow," she added.

Liz grimaced. "I bet bridge duty with Stephanie and Bonnie hasn't been fun lately."

"I'm glad to say I wouldn't know," commented Travis around a bite of lasagna. "I only ever work with Bonnie in Stellar Cartography."

"Actually," said Hoshi, considering, "I don't think I've been on shift with both of them since before we left Dekendi Three. That's odd, because the schedule usually works out so the three of us are on the bridge together at least every ten days or so." She shrugged dismissively and took a bite of her risotto.

An idea occurred to Mayweather suddenly, and he voiced it. "Do you think we should mention any of this to Lieutenant Reed?"

"I've asked myself that several times lately, and I just don't know," Liz answered uncertainly. "I hate the idea of going behind her back to her C.O., but he's her friend, too. You both know him better than I do. What do you think?"

"He may have noticed on his own," Travis suggested. Liz gave him a doubtful look. "What?"

"He's a guy. I love men, but as a rule they're not the most observant about certain things." She glanced at Sato for confirmation, and the other woman nodded again.

"I've decided not to take that personally," quipped the helmsman.

Liz smiled teasingly. "Good." Then her smile faded. "But it's true."

"I know it is. But Malcolm's more observant than most people, I think. There's a reason he's in security." He had a momentary flashback to an exchange between Ari and Ian the night of their bet, and he smiled wryly at the memory.

"What's that about?" asked Liz, catching the look.

"Just remembering something. It's not important."

"So? Do we tell the lieutenant or not?" Hoshi asked.

It was Mayweather who came up with a solution. "I have an idea. I'll try to find out what he knows. If he has noticed what's going on with Stephanie, maybe we can combine information."

"That sounds reasonable, and tactical," Liz added wryly. "In the meantime, I'll talk to Mae. She's Bonnie's roommate after all. She could well know something we don't."

Travis nodded again. With that subject decided, his mind turned to another couple. "Speaking of Lieutenant Reed" he began.

The women waited. When he didn't continue, Liz prompted him. "Yes?"

"Never mind."

"What is it?"

"No. Never mind."

"No. What? Now I want to know."

"Me, too," interjected Hoshi curiously.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Travis" both women threatened at once, then laughed at each other.

The helmsman glanced surreptitiously around to make sure no one was within earshot. Liz and Hoshi followed his gaze in puzzlement until their eyes met across the table once more. "Do you know if he and the Commander moved in together?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Liz was astounded. "Are you kidding?"

"No."

Hoshi began to laugh and Liz joined her. "So much for your no gossiping rule!" the comm officer said.

Travis had the decency to look chagrined. "It's not gossip. I just wondered."

"And what on Earth would make you wonder about that?" she countered, still chuckling.

"Just something I thought I saw, but I must've been mistaken." He sat back, deciding to let the matter drop.

Unfortunately for him, Liz had other ideas. She smiled too sweetly. "Shall I ask around?" she offered innocently. "Stephanie might know something about it."

"Or the quartermaster!" Hoshi interjected as inspiration struck. "If he's gotten a request for a larger bed for either of their quarters, we'll have your answer."

"That's an excellent idea!" agreed Liz.

Travis felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "Okay, okay. Let it go now," he requested, embarrassed.

"If you're sure"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." But the women continued to smirk. Feeling particularly roguish and not willing to let the mood pass, Liz directed her attention to Hoshi. "So how was your date with Ian?"

Hoshi's smile wavered but she forced herself to remain cool as she replied. "Fine, thanks."

"Just fine?" persisted the exobiologist and was gratified to see her prey blush.

"Very fine," amended Hoshi. She fixed Liz with a look she hoped would quell her friend's curiosity—at least until they were no longer in mixed company.

Travis was quicker than his lover, catching the expression on the comm officer's face. "I think I don't need to hear this," he said with certainty.

"It's not gossip if the information comes from the primary source," Liz teased him.

"I don't care. I just don't need to know."

Liz's dark eyes sparkled with mischief, but she finally let the subject drop. A sidelong glance at Hoshi confirmed that the younger woman would fill her in on all the details later.

*****

It was another quiet day in the armory. In fact it was so quiet that Reed had given Griffith and Martinez the rest of the shift off. _There's no point in all three of us being bored and trying to look busy,_ he thought. There really was nothing to do. Every single security system had been aligned, calibrated, rotated, or inventoried. Malcolm idly rubbed at a smudge on the main console with the cuff of his uniform.

"This is absurd," he muttered to the empty room. He couldn't stand there twiddling his thumbs all day. _I suppose I could get in some target practice._ He strode purposefully to a weapons locker and removed a phase-pistol. With expert efficiency, he removed the live power cell and replaced it with a blank cartridge. Next he took out a holographic target emitter. He set it for three fifteen-second rounds with a three-second pause between each round, and activated it. The spherical target shimmered to life in the air a few meters away. The emitter gave him a two-second warning before it began counting down.

Reed fired repeatedly as the target bobbed and wove, moving randomly around the armory. When the time was up, it stilled and returned to its starting position. Malcolm lowered his weapon and went to check the results of his session. He frowned. His hit-to-miss ratio wasn't what he wanted it to be. _Hm. I guess it's a good thing I have some free time right now. I clearly need to do this more often._

He reset the emitter with a new set of specs and began again. He was in the middle of a long, complex session when the upper armory door whooshed open. Instincts running high, he immediately turned his weapon on the intruder, but held off firing.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Trip, putting up his free hand. "Just bringing you the phase converter you asked for," he added. He held out the silver case he carried.

Malcolm lowered his weapon and deactivated the target. It shimmered slightly as it vanished. "You startled me."

"Apparently." Trip lowered his hand and approached, descending the metal staircase to the lower level.

Reed put the phase-pistol's safety on, despite the blank charge, and set it down next to the target emitter. "Are you certain you're in the right department? I didn't ask for a phase converter," he stated as the engineer placed the case on the worktable.

"I know you didn't. It was just an excuse to come visit. There's absolutely nothing going on in engineering today. We're down to polishing the control consoles."

A wry smile turned up the corner of Reed's mouth. "I did a bit of that myself," he admitted. "So, you were bored and you brought me a present, is that it?" He smiled wider at Tucker's chagrined shrug.

"Not exactly," the younger man falsely denied. "Wish I had something more interesting to bring you, but I was kind of limited by what was on hand."

"Your unexpected visit is quite sufficient without gifts."

Trip grinned. "Sweet-talker," he teased. He leaned against the worktable and rested his hands to either side of his hips. "So, pretty quiet in here, too, huh?"

"Excessively." Malcolm leaned on the table next to him, crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch the engineer—just place one hand over the other man's—but they were on duty. Even without anyone else there he felt an open display of affection would be inappropriate.

"Maybe there'll be something interesting when we get to that system of T'Pol's tomorrow," suggested Trip. "Or maybe we'll get lucky before that and someone'll start shooting at us," he added jokingly.

"That's a bit more excitement than I'd like," countered Malcolm, knowing his partner wasn't really serious. "Although I wouldn't say no to a blown relay or a fried connector circuit. Something innocuous and easy to repair."

"I hear ya." Tucker nodded. "I suppose we ought to just enjoy the quiet while it lasts." He edged slightly closer to his lover until only the width of his hand separated them.

"It is a refreshing change, I'll admit." Malcolm was aware of Trip's nearness, felt the almost electric tingle of his presence. The slightest shift of his stance would bring him into physical contact with the engineer. But he didn't move.

"So you were taking advantage of the peace and quiet to do some shooting?" asked Trip, just a hint of wry humor coloring his tones.

"It was a useful way to pass the time. And it turned out I needed the practice."

Trip looked sidelong at the dark-haired armory officer he loved so much. A smile curved his lips as he subtly admired Malcolm's profile, his strong jaw, sculpted cheekbone, sharp nose. "I hope you were using blanks. You came awful close to shooting me when I walked in."

Malcolm glanced at Trip and smiled as he caught the younger man's appreciative gaze. Tucker flushed slightly and turned his head to look forward once more. "I wouldn't have shot you," Reed said.

"Looked like you came pretty close," his lover accused lightly.

"Trust me. I would never accidentally shoot you." Now Malcolm, too, gazed straight ahead.

"I seem to remember a certain moment in a certain shuttlepod"

"That wouldn't have been accidental. I gave you fair warning of my intentions, and I made absolutely certain the phase-pistol was set to stun."

"That was real thoughtful of you." Tucker edged the tiniest bit closer to Malcolm, shifting his arm back on the table so it was just behind Malcolm's hip. Neither man turned his head but continued to watch the far wall of the armory as if there was something fascinating hanging there.

"I do try."

The two were silent for several moments, contemplating the plain gray paneling of the bulkhead.

"I suppose I should get back to doing nothing in my own department," Trip said eventually. But instead of leaving he slid even closer to Malcolm until their thighs were pressed against one another and his hand rested behind the shorter man's far hip.

It was all Malcolm could do not to turn suddenly and pin the engineer to the table. He wanted nothing more than sweep the few bits and bobs from the workbench and ravage Tucker right there and then. "Commander," he said, a hint of warning in his voice—although warning about what and to whom, he wasn't entirely certain.

"YeahLieutenant?" rejoined Tucker, not moving. A tiny glance out of the corner of his eye showed him Malcolm was feeling the effects of their tight proximity just as much as Trip. He slipped his hand around his lover's hip, letting it rest there lightly, seeing what the armory officer would do.

Malcolm took a deep, steadying breath. _Oh, this has to stop now,_ he thought. _It's incredibly unprofessional—never mind the possibility of being caught._ The horror of facing a reprimand from the Captain eased his growing arousal somewhat. It wasn't enough to overcome it completely. If this kept up, he knew not even his high personal standards of professionalism would stop him from fucking Trip right there in the armory. "Youreally ought to go," he said tensely.

"You really want me to?" asked Tucker, already knowing the answer.

"No. But you need to go, now."

Trip made as if to push away from the table but instead pivoted so he was facing Malcolm, leaning against him along the full length of his body. He rested his hands on Reed's lower back and pulled him in so their erections were pressed hard against one another. He inclined his head, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to the other man's and asked, "You're sure about that?"

Reed resolutely kept his arms crossed over his chest, pinned between himself and his lover. It took every ounce of his will power—helped along by the mortifying mental image of having to explain to Captain Archer how they were caught making love on duty in a public area of the ship—to respond. "Yes. I'm sure."

Tucker's disappointment was immediate and obvious. "Damn. I really thought I'd got you for a second there." He stood upright and stepped away. His glance fell on the case he'd brought with him. "I think I'll take that back," he said, retrieving the item. He held it slightly awkwardly directly in front of his body, hiding the bulge in his pants.

Malcolm gave him a sympathetic but somewhat teasing smile. "Just imagine what it would be like if we'd been caught by a subordinate and then reprimanded by the Captain," he suggested. "It's working fairly well for me."

Trip grimaced. "That helps, but it ain't gonna do the whole job. Promise you'll meet me in my quarters immediately after shift, and I might just be able to hang on the rest of the afternoon."

"You have my word," agreed Malcolm sincerely.

Tucker just nodded and turned to go. He climbed the steps awkwardly, the seam of his coveralls cutting uncomfortably into his groin. He took a moment to readjust himself before stepping out of the armory.

Malcolm watched him go, the rear view as he ascended the staircase too irresistible to ignore. He regretted letting Tucker go the moment the engineer was out of sight. Like Trip had only moments before, he adjusted himself, mentally cursing the designer of the unnecessarily form-fitting one-piece Starfleet uniforms.

_There are times,_ he thought with bitter irony, _where my professionalism is a down right pain in the arse._

*****

Mae entered the darkened mess hall. She was in the mood for a midnight snack and had heard there was cherry pie to be found. She was surprised to see another figure there at that late hour—until she recognized the familiar form of her friend Stephanie. Cormack stood at the drinks dispenser, seemingly frozen in mid-activity. Lawless took a moment to observe her. The rift she'd experienced with Bonnie was obviously having detrimental effects on the blonde. Even in the dim light Mae could make out the uncharacteristic slump of the armory ensign's shoulders. Her hair was loose and wild, and one strap of her pajama top had fallen down.

Mae approached her. "Hey, buddy. What's up?" she asked in as casual a tone as she could manage.

Stephanie started. "Hey! I didn't see you come in."

"I heard there was pie."

"Oh." Cormack nodded distractedly. When it was clear Mae was waiting for her own explanation for being there, she added, "I couldn't sleep. Thought maybe some steamed milk would be good."

Lawless glanced at the drinks dispenser, noticing the glass tumbler on its pad. "You might want something with a handle in that case."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Dunno where the hell my brain was." She removed the glass and traded it for a mug. Placing it on the pad, she ordered, "Steamed milk with honey and cinnamon." There was an awkward silence as the pair waited for it to fill.

It wasn't long before the quiet got to Mae. "Is everything okay?" she asked, knowing the second the words were out what a stupid question it was.

"Fine." Stephanie shrugged and claimed her drink.

"You want to sit? You can keep me company while I eat, assuming there really is pie. Hang on." It took Lawless only a moment to find what she sought. She claimed a piece of pie and placed a mug under the drinks dispenser. "Decaf coffee, blonde and sweet." As it filled, she smiled at her friend. "Can't beat cherry pie and a damn fine cup of coffee," she quipped.

"S'pose not," Stephanie agreed listlessly. She stared down into her mug of steaming hot milk, wishing it had something stronger than honey in it and knowing exactly where her brain had been when she'd first placed a tumbler under the dispenser. "Listen, I'm gonna go back to bed."

"C'mon," coaxed Mae, "just hang out with me. There's nothing sadder than eating alone in the middle of the night."

The armory ensign cocked her head to one side and fixed her friend with an apathetic gaze. "You have a point. I'll stay."

Mae picked up her coffee and the two sat at a small table by the windows. Cormack alternately stared into her drink, out at the stars, and across the table at Mae, never seeming to focus on any of them. Lawless kept a surreptitious eye on her friend as she ate. She hated seeing Stephanie like this, especially when she was sure she knew what was necessary to make her feel better. Mae wracked her brain for something useful to say but came up empty.

The pair sat in silence for several minutes. Mae slowly munched her pie. She didn't want to eat too quickly, hoping something helpful would spring to mind if only she could stall there long enough.

"This sucks," Stephanie muttered eventually, startling the engineer from her thoughts.

All Mae could do was agree. "Yeah."

Stephanie looked at her in surprise. "Oh. Guess that was outside voice, eh?"

"Yeah," Mae said again. "That's okay."

"I don't know why I'm so" The blonde woman searched for just the right words. "totally fucked up by this," she concluded at last. "I've had lots of one-night stands. Probably a lot more than I remember," she added with bitter humor. "Kinda comes with the territory of 'drunken musician,' you know?"

Mae only nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could name one one-night stand she knew her friend didn't remember, but she'd promised Bonnie she wouldn't tell. _Of course that was before she went all silent treatment,_ she thought angrily.

"I just thought she really liked me," continued Stephanie mostly to herself.

"She does," replied Mae gently. _And I'm going to kick her ass for being such a dumbshit,_ her mind added.

"Yeah. Right."

Cormack looked at her friend and Mae was struck by how desolate she appeared. Dark circles ringed hazel eyes that lacked their usual sharpness and spark; the corners of her mouth curved down even when no emotion was expressed on her face. "You look like hell," Lawless commented.

Stephanie gave her a mirthless half smile. "Like I said. Can't sleep."

"Have you asked Phlox for something to help?"

"No. Stupid, eh? I'm too busy wallowing in self-pity." There was nothing to say to this, so Mae remained silent and continued to eat slowly. Eventually Stephanie let out a mammoth sigh. "I'm gonna go now. See you for breakfast?" she asked as she rose lethargically. Her steamed milk was untouched and no longer steaming. "It's gonna be early. I'm scheduled on the landing party tomorrow."

"Right on. I'll be here. Sleep well."

"Thanks."

Cormack left the mess hall and Lawless continued to sit there, sipping thoughtfully at her coffee. When she'd judged enough time had passed that there was no possibility of running into her friend in the corridor, she too departed the mess hall, heading for her cabin.

Bonnie was there when she arrived. The helmsman was dressed in her pajamas and laying on her bunk, listening to Rowan's Circle. At her roommate's arrival, she glanced over and then away. "Hey," she said indifferently.

Mae crossed to the computer and shut off the music. "I've had it."

"Huh?" Bonnie looked from her to the computer and back again quizzically.

"I'm done. I just spent the last twenty minutes with Stephanie." At the armory ensign's name, Bonnie looked away once more. Mae fixed her with a glare and continued angrily. "You haven't said a word to her since we left Dekendi Three, and she doesn't have a clue why. She's miserable, and you are, too—whether you'll admit it or not. Enough's enough. I'm done keeping your secrets. If you don't talk to Stephanie, I will."

Now Fraser sat up, taking a full interest at last. "You wouldn't."

"I would. If she doesn't know the whole truth by midnight tomorrow, she will by breakfast the next day."

"But you promised!"

"That was before you shoved your head up your own ass! The only thing that'll stop me now is you telling her first."

"She's off the ship tomorrow! You've got to give me more time!"

"You've had more than enough time. And she won't be gone all day. I'm sure you'll manage."

Bonnie knew from Mae's furious expression and sharp tone that the engineer was dead serious in her threat. "Please" she began, but trailed off, not knowing what she wanted to say. She was torn up inside. The distance she'd deliberately placed between herself and Stephanie was eating at her. She hated it and she hated knowing it was entirely her own fault. If she'd been honest with Stephanie in the first place, if she'd resisted the temptation of the blonde woman's advances in the alien forest, even if she'd come clean immediately afterward _If, if, if!_ she thought bitterly. "Fucking ifs!"

Mae was completely surprised by the vehement declaration. "What the hell?" she demanded.

"Twenty-twenty hindsight," spat Fraser. "Doesn't matter."

"So are you going to do it?" Lawless was determined. She wouldn't leave her bunkmate be until she had a definite answer.

"All right, I'll do it." Bonnie's tone was belligerent, but Mae took the helmsman at her word.

"Good." Without further comment, Mae turned the music back on. As chance would have it, the track was a depressing one full of weeping guitar and mournful violin.

"Shut it off," said Bonnie. Mae complied and the room fell silent. Bonnie laid down and rolled onto her side facing the bulkhead, effectively ending further communication.

Lawless prepared for bed without either woman speaking another word. When she was ready, she shut off the cabin lights and climbed into her bunk. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

*****

T'Pol and her team had collected a great deal of data over the past two days. The moon they'd been studying had a wide variety of plant and insect life but minimal mammalian, reptilian, or piscine lifeforms. In short, it appeared to be safe. While T'Pol would have preferred another few days studying the moon from orbit, she had learned long ago the limits of Captain Archer's patience in such matters. A preliminary survey team had already been selected, and they gathered in the launch bay as soon as _Enterprise_ established orbit.

Mayweather hailed the bridge from the pilot's seat of Shuttlepod One. "We're ready to go, Captain," the helmsman announced.

"Have a safe trip. See you in a few hours," came Archer's reply.

"Yes, sir." Travis closed the comm and took a quick glance around the crowded shuttle. Certain his six passengers were settled as comfortably as possible in the small space, he guided the shuttlepod out of the launch bay.

T'Pol recapped their assignments during the short journey to the surface of the moon.

"Lieutenant Reed, you will accompany Ensign Cutler and crewman Novakovich. Ensign Cormack, you will be with crewman Doyle and me. Each team is to check in with Ensign Mayweather every twenty minutes. We'll rendezvous back at the shuttlepod after four hours."

Everyone acknowledged their understanding and agreement.

The ensuing silence was finally broken by Travis. "I have the landing site in view."

"Take us down, Ensign," said T'Pol.

Mayweather landed the ship expertly. He ran a final check of the moon's atmosphere before releasing the pod's starboard hatch. One by one, the cramped crew climbed out into the damp, sticky heat of the tropical moon. Cormack was the last to emerge. She took the cases of equipment Mayweather handed her and passed them to the waiting science crewmembers. Finally he handed her two backpacks containing first-aid kits, water, and other emergency supplies. She gave one of these to Lieutenant Reed, who thanked her and joined his waiting team. Cormack shrugged into the remaining pack.

"See you in four hours," she said to Mayweather.

"Have fun," the helmsman replied, clearly disappointed that his visit to the alien sphere would be confined to the clearing where the pod now sat.

"Ensign Cormack," said T'Pol. It was obvious from her tone she was ready to depart.

Cormack looked over her shoulder at the waiting Vulcan. "Coming, Sub-commander." Cormack took a split second to glance back at Mayweather. "Hope you brought a book." She grinned and jogged the few paces to where T'Pol and crewman Doyle waited, one hand resting comfortably on the phase-pistol at her hip.

Travis watched until both teams disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding jungle. _Liz is right,_ he thought, considering Cormack's teasing parting comment and comparing it to her stoic silence during their flight to the moon. _Half the time she seems fine, the other half she just functions._

*****

Cormack hadn't expected their mission to be particularly exciting, but she still wasn't prepared for the mind-numbing boredom that accompanied the collection of botanical specimens. It was worse than one of the "educational family fieldtrips" her mother had insisted on when she and Ryn were children. Ryn had always loved it, sharing their mother's fascination with green growing things. Stephanie was as bored now as she'd been then. She liked plants as a general rule; she simply didn't understand the tremendous fascination they held for others. For her the childhood fieldtrips had served the greater purpose of getting to spend time with her father. After he'd died, she'd refused to go on them.

Now she found herself actively looking forward to her regular reports back to Mayweather. They were only the briefest exchanges to let him know where the team was and how they were progressing, but at least it was a moment to talk to someone who wasn't hyper-focused on the local flora and arthropoda. And it was a moment to distract her from her own gloomy musings. It was hard enough to keep her mind off of Bonnie when she was busy; when she was bored, it was impossible.

_Bet Liz is having a great time,_ she thought, waving a hand in front of her sweat-damp face to disperse a cloud of tiny insects. _She loves her bugs._

A few kilometers away Cutler was indeed absorbed in her study of the local insect population. She was eagerly fishing another small specimen jar from her equipment case when she heard a shout from Novakovich. Immediately she and Lieutenant Reed were on the alert. They reached the crewman in seconds.

"What is it?" demanded Reed, weapon drawn and eyes scouring the area for any potential threat.

Novakovich was shaking out his hand sharply. "Something bit me," he explained. "It's probably nothing. It just took me by surprise."

Cutler wiped the sweat from her forehead with a sleeve. "Lieutenant, may I have the first-aid kit?"

"It's not that bad," protested Novakovich as Reed removed his pack and passed it off to her.

Cutler took it and fished out the kit, withdrawing the medical scanner. "Let me see," she said, indicating the crewman's injured hand. Novakovich held it out and she examined the small wound on his index finger.

Reed finally holstered his weapon, but he remained wary. "Did you see what bit you?" he asked.

"No," Novakovich replied. "I was collecting a sample." He pointed with his free hand to the plant he'd been carefully digging up to be taken back to the ship. Immediately Reed knelt next to it, examining the area carefully with both eyes and scanner.

"You'll be fine," Cutler pronounced, releasing her colleague's hand. "I'm not registering any foreign substances in the wound, but we should bandage that up before you go digging in any more dirt." She once more reached into the first-aid kit.

"I think I found what bit you, crewman," announced Reed.

"You did, sir?" Novakovich asked. He was curious to find the culprit, as he'd seen nothing.

"Mm-hmm." The lieutenant very carefully lifted one of the wide leaves of the plant. There, almost invisible against the green background, was a large, green beetle-like insect.

"Oo!" exclaimed Cutler, her eyes widening in excitement. "It's _gorgeous_! We should take it with us."

Reed agreed with her but not for the same reason. "It would be wise to take it back so it can be checked for any toxic properties our scanners might miss. One can't be too careful."

"Can you finish with my hand first, please?" Novakovich requested.

Cutler gave him a chagrined smile. "Sorry, Ethan. Hang on."

"I'll get the insect," offered Reed. He gently lowered the leaf and went to the exobiologist's equipment case for a specimen jar. 

Cutler finished cleaning and patching Novakovich's bite while Reed collected the bug that had bitten the crewman. The lieutenant stowed the new specimen with the rest.

"Well," he said, "let's hope that's the most excitement we have while we're here."

*****

"What a beautiful flower!" exclaimed crewman Doyle. "That violet-colored one on the branch there. Do you see it, Sub-commander?"

"I do," the Vulcan replied evenly. "Unfortunately, I see no way to collect it on this visit. It will have to wait until another survey team can come more prepared."

Cormack closed her communicator, zipping it into her sleeve pocket before joining the pair staring up into a huge, broad-leafed tree. "Report completed, Sub-commander," she announced as she had every twenty minutes for the past two-plus hours. "Ensign Mayweather says there's nothing going on at his end of things. What are you looking at?" She brushed damp tendrils of hair from her face and looked up, trying to see what had so caught the others' attention.

"There is an intriguing specimen above us," T'Pol informed her. She turned away from the unattainable goal. "Unfortunately, it is too high to reach. Perhaps another team can bring the equipment needed to collect it."

Doyle gave a disappointed sigh. "It looks a lot like a vanda orchid from here, but with a racemose inflorescence that runs along a vine rather than a more solid stem. Do you see how it wraps around that branch? I'd love to get a closer look."

Cormack didn't pretend to understand what the crewman was talking about. "You want me to get it?" was all she asked.

Doyle looked at her with hopeful gray eyes. T'Pol's expression was less confident. "It is over five meters up," she said evenly.

Cormack began to slowly circle the tree, assessing the possibility of climbing its rough surface. "No worries," she replied as she rounded one side. "There's a lower branch here, and the root structure and the deep bark should make it easy to climb. I'll be able to pull myself up here then come around to this one over here," she added, continuing around. She raised her voice so she could be heard clearly from the other side of the behemoth. "Then the one you're looking at is just a little farther. Come take a look." Cormack poked her head back around the massive trunk and waved the others over.

T'Pol and Doyle joined her in the shadow of the tree. Doyle wiped a sleeve over his face. He was finding it more and more difficult to ignore the heat and humidity as the morning progressed. He told himself it was cooler here in the shade, but he found himself unconvincing.

T'Pol appeared unaffected by the heat, although privately she found the humidity uncomfortable. She considered Cormack's proposed route up the tree. "You're certain you can traverse this safely?" she asked the ensign.

"Yes, ma'am. Used to do it all the time when I was a kid." Cormack crossed mental fingers. She didn't want to appear too eager, but the distraction provided by climbing the tree would very welcome. She was antsy with nothing to do but look at the scenery and think how hot and sticky she felt.

"Very well."

Doyle was already prepared. "Here," he said, handing Cormack a pair of blunt-nosed clippers. She took them and passed the backpack she wore over to him in exchange. "We don't need a huge piece, but if you could get a section that has at least half a dozen of the blooms, that'd be _great_." He was obviously as excited by the prospect of the new specimen as Cormack was at the chance to climb the jungle giant.

She grinned at him as she zipped the small cutter into a pocket. "I'll see what I can do," she said. The trio moved back to the side of the tree with the lowest branch. Cormack surveyed it carefully, picking her intended path. She climbed carefully up the wide-spreading root structure to the trunk itself, then began feeling out hand and footholds in the rough bark. It wasn't long before she stood on the first branch.

She quickly caught her breath and continued her climb to the next limb. T'Pol and Doyle followed her progress with critical eyes, both walking around the huge tree in order to keep her in sight.

Cormack peered intently up at her target. "It almost looks like the vine is growing down from the higher branches," she called. "You see? Weird." Not expecting a reply, she resumed her climb and finally reached her goal. She sat down astride the heavy branch, using her thighs to keep hold of it. It reminded her of the one time a childhood friend had tried to teach her to ride a horse. She'd failed dismally, but Cormack found it gratifying that she could actually put what little of the technique she knew to good use now. "I'm going to see if I can find the end of this vine," she announced to her companions on the ground.

"Do not take any unnecessary risks," T'Pol called back. "You don't know how much extra weight the limb can hold."

"Yes, ma'am," agreed Cormack. She stood where she was next to the trunk and bounced ever so slightly to test the limb's sturdiness. "It feels pretty solid here. I promise I won't go any farther than I feel is safe."

"That is acceptable."

It was slow going from there. Cormack stepped carefully away from the trunk. The limb was quite wide at its base and narrowed only slightly as she made her way out along it. She watched her feet when she could, not wanting to crush any of the vibrant purple blooms unnecessarily. _Of course,_ she thought placing a foot between two coils of vine, _if it comes down to me or it, I pick me. Ah-ha!_ "I think I see it!"

Down on the ground, T'Pol and Doyle were having some difficulty keeping the ensign in sight. Sprawling branches from nearby trees intermingled with those of the tree where the orchid grew. Their broad leaves obscured the view from below.

"Be careful!" called Doyle. He squinted up, trying to pick out the blue of Cormack's uniform amidst the greens, browns, and purples of the foliage.

"No worries," Cormack shouted back confidently. She sat down on the limb, once again gripping it between her legs. The branch was just narrow enough for her to hook her ankles underneath for extra security, which she promptly did. She fished the clippers Doyle had given her out of her pocket. "I'm going to cut the vine, and then unwrap the cut part from the branch," she announced so her companions would know what she intended. "Then I can drop it down for you to catch." She released the safety lock on the clippers and slipped the fingers of her left hand around a bare section of the vine, pulling it from the limb enough to get the blades around it. It was a tight fit. "It's really hanging onto the branch," she called. She cut the vine. A thin trail of clear liquid oozed from the cut, sealing both ends in seconds. Cormack watched in fascination. "Cool." She locked the clippers once again and returned them to her pocket.

Next she began the task of unwinding the severed vine. It wouldn't give up its hold easily. She grunted with effort as she slowly peeled it from the rough bark. "This thing's really determined," the ensign informed the waiting scientists. She managed to get nearly half a meter off the branch before the unexpected happened. Instead of hanging limply, the freed end of the vine writhed out of her grip and waved about in the air. It looked like nothing so much as snake to the startled ensign. She reached out a hand to catch the creeper, but instead it caught her. It wrapped itself around her left arm and clung there. 

"What the hell?" exclaimed Cormack. She pulled on the vine, trying to free her captured limb. She twisted her arm in the opposite direction from the spiral of green tendril, but the plant held on and began to constrict. The feeling rapidly left her fingers at the same time her arm started to sting. She guessed whatever the vine used to cling to the tree was either burning or biting its way through the fabric of her uniform. 

Fighting back a wave of panic, she fished with her free hand for the clippers. She got the pocket unzipped and had the tool in hand but between her growing fear and the sweat brought on by the jungle heat, the clippers slipped from her fingers. "Heads up!" she shouted instinctively, hoping no one was directly below her.

"Ensign Cormack," T'Pol called up to her. "What is happening?"

"The vine's wrapped itself around my arm!" Cormack shouted back. Against all good sense, she tugged again and felt the tendril tighten. She pulled one more time, panic giving her added strength. The vine held. Unfortunately her own hold on the tree limb didn't. Her frantic yanking pulled her off balance and she fell.

*****

"Whoa!"

"Ensign!" shouted Reed at the same time Novakovich cried out, "Liz!"

The exobiologist flailed her arms frantically in a desperate attempt to maintain her balance. It wasn't enough. The stone she'd trusted to hold her weight shifted unexpectedly. Her foot went out from under her and she tumbled sideways off the low stone ledge and into the lake.

The men raced to the water's edge. "Liz!" called Novakovich again.

Cutler came up spluttering. She spat out a mouthful of murky water, a look of deep disgust on her face. "Ugh! Yuck!" She fought her way to the rocky shore where her companions pulled her out.

"Are you all right?" Reed asked her as he helped her to her feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a different sort of wet and smelly than I was before I fell in," Cutler replied. She pushed her sodden hair away from her face with one hand. In the other she still held the scanner she'd been using to study a particularly fascinating centipedal insect before she'd slipped. She held it up. "I'm afraid the scanner's shot, though."

Novakovich took the dripping device and shook it, dislodging myriad tiny droplets of dirty water.

"Thank you," said Reed dryly, wiping several drops of spray from his cheek.

The crewman gave him a mortified look. "I'm sorry, sir!" he exclaimed.

Reed shook his head. "It's all right, crewman," he assured the young man. "It was almost refreshing in this heat."

"I think Liz is right about this scanner," Novakovich continued, hoping to change the subject. "But we won't know for sure until it has time to dry out."

"I don't think anything's going to dry out with this humidity," said Cutler. She plucked uselessly at her soaking wet uniform.

"I think perhaps we should cut our visit short." Reed eyed the exobiologist questioningly. "But I leave the decision up to you, Ensign."

Cutler sighed. "How long do we have until we're supposed to be back at the shuttlepod?" she asked.

Reed didn't need to check the time; it was less than five minutes since he'd last checked in with Mayweather. "About an hour and a quarter."

Again Cutler let out a heavy sigh. "Well, it's probably a good time to head back anyway." She was disappointed, but they had a good array of specimens already—enough to keep her busy for quite a while. "Let's go."

*****

Only the vine's vise-like grip kept her from plunging to the jungle floor. It pulled Cormack up short and she screamed as searing pain tore through her shoulder.

"Ensign!" shouted T'Pol urgently.

Cormack couldn't reply. She gulped in air, trying to quell the mind-numbing agony that ran from her shoulder to her elbow. Where the vine held her forearm, the limb had thankfully gone from burning to completely numb. Gaining a modicum of control, she looked around and then down. She was dangling at least three meters above the ground.

An eerie calm descended on her. The pain of her shoulder receded to inconsequential background noise. Her eyes told her T'Pol and Doyle were speaking, but her ears tuned out the sound. Her brain began to analyze her options and shortly settled on one. With her free right hand, Cormack drew her phase-pistol. The movement caused her to turn in lazy circles, but she took no notice. She took careful aim at the creeper just below where it left the tree limb. She inhaled, held the breath, and fired.

Cormack hit the ground with a heavy thud and a scream. The scream was followed by a huge intake of breath and lengthy string of colorful invective. Immediately, her companions were beside her, helping her to sit up.

"Thatfuckinghurt," she gasped, finally managing an actual sentence.

T'Pol ignored the comment. "We must remove the vine," she said coolly. She looked at crewman Doyle. "Find something to act as a new host."

Doyle nodded and began a search of the surrounding area. It didn't take long for him to find a good-sized stick, which he brought to the waiting Vulcan. T'Pol took it and, starting with the trailing end—the end that was already searching for something to hang onto—began to wrap the vine around it. The creeper immediately began twining itself around the branch. Every twist caused a new stab of pain along Cormack's arm. She clenched her teeth and concentrated on breathing.

When all the loose section of the plant was securely around the branch, T'Pol began to pull the rest of it from Cormack's arm. The ensign's hand was white from the constriction. Fabric tore as T'Pol removed the vine, and blood seeped from underneath it.

"Ensign," said the Vulcan as she worked. "Am I hurting you?"

Cormack looked at her, her face even whiter than her normal deep space pallor. She tried to focus on T'Pol, but the pain in her shoulder and arm caused her vision to blur at the edges. Finally she ground out a strained, "Yes."

The sub-commander glanced over at Doyle. "Get the medical scanner," she ordered.

Doyle nodded and fished in the necessities pack for the first-aid kit. He found the kit and opened it, quickly pulling out the medical scanner. T'Pol had just finished removing the vine from Cormack's arm when he spoke up. "Here, Sub-commander." He held out the device.

The Vulcan took it and examined the injured woman. "Ensign," she said, meeting the Cormack's pained gaze and holding it. "Your shoulder is dislocated."

"I'd kindafigured thatma'am," Cormack replied. She returned her gaze to her forearm resting at an unnatural angle on her lap. Her focus narrowed to where the vine had been, and she watched her blood slowly saturate her torn sleeve. The limb tingled as feeling gradually returned. The combination of sight and sensation was almost hypnotic, and much less painful to think about than her shoulder.

T'Pol turned once again to Doyle. "Get me a hypospray of local anesthetic and an antibiotic," the Vulcan told the crewman.

"Yes, ma'am." He promptly loaded a hypo with the appropriate drugs.

T'Pol returned her attention to the ensign. "It's necessary to immobilize your arm."

"Whatever you say," Cormack replied tightly, not looking up.

"Crewman, the hypo," ordered T'Pol. Doyle handed it over and the Vulcan injected it into Cormack's neck. The ensign relaxed slightly as the narcotic spread through her system and her breathing and heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.

Finally, Cormack took a deep breath and let it out. "Better," she said.

T'Pol reached over to the first-aid kit, pulling it into easy reach. She took out a roll of bandages. "Can you raise your right arm, Ensign?" Cormack nodded and lifted the uninjured limb high enough for T'Pol to get under it. With the help of Doyle, she wrapped the bandages tightly around the ensign's torso and injured left arm, securing it to her side from shoulder to elbow. That done, T'Pol reached once more into the first-aid kit and withdrew a bandage cutter. Slipping it under the cuff of Cormack's sleeve, she cut away the torn and bloody fabric to reveal the arm underneath it. It was obvious where the vine had gripped the limb; a spiral of swollen flesh slowly oozing blood wrapped around Cormack's arm from wrist to elbow.

The ensign swallowed hard at the sight. "That'snot pretty," she commented tensely.

"The swelling and discharge are natural reactions to your injury, Ensign," replied T'Pol, not understanding. She found the disinfectant and sprayed the cleanser over Cormack's injuries.

Cormack sucked in air through her teeth, her eyes watering in response to the sudden stinging pain. "More drugs please?" she asked tightly.

"Crewman," said T'Pol, retrieving the hypo and handing it to him.

"I don'tknow" Doyle began to protest. Medicine wasn't his forte; he stuck to plants rather than people.

T'Pol looked at him steadily. "You can apply the hypospray, or you can bandage this arm."

Doyle swallowed against rising nausea. "I'll take the hypo," he said, accepting the instrument. He'd passed his emergency first-aid re-certification in July, but only by the barest of margins. The yearly task was never a pleasant one for him. He crossed mental fingers as he placed the hypo against Cormack's neck and released another dose of medication.

"Thank you," the ensign said gratefully. She decided not to watch while T'Pol bandaged her arm, instead staring out into the jungle foliage. "Not nearly as much fun as my last time off the ship," she muttered mournfully. "Although that one didn't end real well either."

T'Pol heard her but determined she wasn't seeking a response. She finished her first-aid and sat back. "Can you stand?" she asked.

Gingerly, Cormack shifted onto her knees. "Yeah. I think so."

T'Pol rose and reached out a hand. Cormack took it and was helped to her feet. As soon as her hand was free again, she used it to cradle her injured arm against her body. While Doyle cleaned up the remnants of the first-aid, T'Pol took out her communicator and hailed Ensign Mayweather.

"Go ahead, Sub-commander," Travis replied, surprised to hear her voice instead of Cormack's.

"We are returning now. Inform the other team to meet us at the shuttlepod as soon as possible."

"They're already on their way. They had a minor mishap. Lieutenant Reed said it wasn't anything too serious."

"Then they have been more fortunate than we. Be ready to depart as soon as we're all aboard and alert _Enterprise_ to have a medical team waiting. We should be at your position in fifteen minutes. T'Pol out." She shut the communicator. "Do you think you can manage the walk?" she asked Cormack.

The ensign nodded. "I'm good as long as the drugs last. Wait!" Suddenly remembering something, Cormack looked frantically at the ground around her. "My phase-pistol has to be here. We can't leave it."

"Got it already," declared Doyle. He held it up. "I found it when I was cleaning up. I put the safety on," he added, proud to have remembered his training with the weapon after months of not using one.

T'Pol collected the first-aid kit and returned it to the pack. "Crewman, can you carry the equipment cases?"

"Yes, ma'am. Umm" He paused, not sure what to do with the phase-pistol. Wordlessly, T'Pol took it from him.

"Let's go," she said.

*****

The others were all waiting for them when they reached the shuttlepod. Novakovich and Doyle stowed the equipment as Reed and T'Pol helped Cormack into the pod.

"Have you alerted _Enterprise_ to our situation?" T'Pol asked Mayweather as she sealed the pod's hatch.

"Yes, ma'am. Doctor Phlox is standing by." Mayweather ignited the thrusters. The little ship lifted into the air and they were soon out of the moon's atmosphere.

"What happened?" asked Cutler as she pulled out a medical scanner and inspected Cormack's injuries.

"I fell out of a tree," Stephanie replied through clenched teeth. The anesthetic she'd been given was slowly receding in the face of the pain. She glanced up, noticing her bunkmate's soggy condition for the first time. "What happened to you?" she demanded, happy for the momentary distraction.

"I fell into a lake," Cutler answered, embarrassed.

"Hell of a day, eh?"

The exobiologist only nodded in reply.

*****

Phlox peered pleasantly through the window into the decon chamber. He flipped open the direct comm line. "You're all free to go except Ensigns Cutler and Cormack," he announced.

T'Pol was the first to leave the chamber, striding purposefully through the open door. Close behind her were Novakovich and Doyle. Mayweather was about to follow them but paused to give Liz an encouraging smile. "See you soon," the helmsman said. Liz nodded and returned the smile.

Cormack looked up from her seat on the floor as the others filed out. "But—" she began, but couldn't complete the protest. She felt miserable; the pain of her injuries made her dizzy just sitting there. She hadn't been able to remove her uniform like the others, and the added discomfort of the wrinkled and sweaty fabric only made matters worse.

"It's all right, Ensign," Phlox assured her, his voice now coming through the comm and the open door in a strange sort of stereo effect. "You don't have to stay in decon."

"Good," answered Cormack and Cutler in unison. The exobiologist went to help her friend to her feet, but Phlox stopped her.

"Don't do that. _You're_ staying put, Liz," Phlox corrected. "But I want Ensign Cormack in the imaging chamber right away."

"What?" Cutler exclaimed.

Lieutenant Reed, the last to reach the door, stopped and turned back. "I'll take her," he said to Cutler. He went to Cormack and carefully helped her to stand. The ensign gasped and bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out as the movement jarred her injuries. Tears welled up in her eyes at the stab of pain, and a fresh wave of dizziness hit her.

Liz turned to glare at Phlox through the window. "Why am I stuck in here?" she asked as the door slid shut behind the armory officers, leaving her in isolation.

"You picked up a parasite in your aquatic adventure," Phlox informed her. "I've synthesized the appropriate remedy. Please come here."

Resigned and a bit annoyed, Liz approached the window. "Is this going to be one of those gels?" she inquired dubiously.

"Yes, it is." A tray under the window slid open, revealing a container of yellow-gray gel made a sickly green by the blue lights of the decon chamber.

Liz sighed. "At least you could have left Travis in here to give me a hand," she groused half-heartedly, opening the container.

Phlox merely chuckled indulgently. "If I did that, I suspect the thirty minutes I intend to keep you in there might increase substantially."

Blushing furiously, Liz turned away from the window. "I can manage, thanks."

"Then if you'll excuse me, I have another patient to see to."

Cutler's eyes widened. Irritation at her own predicament had temporarily driven her bunkmate's plight from her mind. "I'll be fine," she said hurriedly, once more facing the doctor. "Take care of Stephanie."

"I always do." Phlox smiled and closed the comm. When he turned around, Cormack was laying on the diagnostic bed with Reed waiting beside her. "You're free to go, Lieutenant. I can handle things from here," the Denobulan said pleasantly.

"Yes, Doctor," answered Reed. He looked down at Cormack. "I'll see you soon," he promised her before padding barefoot from the room.

"All right, Ensign," said Phlox. "Just a quick visit to the imaging chamber."

"S'okay, Doc. No more claustrophobia, remember?" she reminded him in a strained voice. "Just do this so I can have more pain meds, please."

"Of course."

As Phlox had promised, her time in the chamber was brief and it was promptly follow by another, stronger analgesic. Cormack relaxed as the drug worked its magic. "Thank you. You're gonna put my shoulder back now, right?" she continued hopefully. She yawned, adding, "It's kinda creeping me out."

When the Denobulan physician didn't immediately reply, Stephanie grew concerned. The expression on his face as he examined the scanner's findings was even more disturbing than his silence.

"What's up?" she asked, wishing she had the energy to sit up and look for herself. The pain-killer she'd received was powerful and she found herself losing focus easily.

"There's an opioid-like substance in your blood," Phlox answered at last.

"Opioid?" This was a new one on Cormack. She was having enough trouble concentrating through the drug haze without Phlox throwing new vocabulary words at her. "Whazzat?"

He finally looked away from the readouts and down at his patient. He guessed that any scientific explanation would be lost on the ailing ensign. He chose to go with a simple if not entirely accurate answer. "A type of narcotic. It appears to be concentrated in your left arm, but it's spreading. Still," he continued matter-of-factly, "it's not moving so quickly that it can't wait while I reduce your shoulder." He pulled a bandage cutter from a nearby cabinet. "T'Pol splinted it well, I must say," he commented as he sliced through the bandages holding Cormack's arm against her side. The ensign was so mellowed by the anesthetic that she didn't even flinch as the limb was released. It easily slipped the tiny distance to the diagnostic bed.

"It's good to see you're so relaxed, Ensign," Phlox quipped; the analgesic hypo had in fact included a muscle relaxant. He felt the injured joint through the fabric of her uniform, determining the best angle at which to proceed. "Ah, there we are," he muttered as he found what he sought. He took hold of Cormack's arm just above the elbow. Placing the heel of his free hand against her armpit, he pulled on the ensign's arm at the same time he turned it slightly counter-clockwise. He gave a nod of satisfaction as the bones slid back into place.

"How does that feel?" he asked her.

Cormack looked blearily up at his face. Her pupils were narrowed and her eyes were glassy. "What feel?"

The doctor's expression grew concerned. The drugs he'd given her were strong—she had a high tolerance for pain-killers and he'd treated her accordingly—but they shouldn't have affected her to such an extent. He realized it had to be the opiod reacting with the analgesic. "Exactly what happened down there?" Phlox inquired. He pulled out his handheld medical scanner and examined Cormack with it as she spoke.

As clearly as she could, Stephanie related the incident of her climb and subsequent fall from the huge tree. She knew she wasn't entirely coherent, but she couldn't seem to care. "The flowers were sure pretty," she said as she finished her tale. "Orchids." Her eyes closed sleepily and she smiled, remembering the rich purple color of the blossoms.

"Did you bring the vine back?" Phlox asked, pulling her drifting thoughts back to the present.

"Hmm?" She almost opened her eyes, but gave up trying. 

It was clear to the doctor that he wasn't going to get an answer from her. Without a word, he reached over her head to the comm panel and opened a line. "Phlox to Sub-commander T'Pol."

"Go ahead," came the Vulcan woman's well-modulated tones.

"I need the vine—the one that attacked Ensign Cormack."

"It did not attack the ensign."

"No, I'm sure it didn't," he conceded. "But I need the specimen as soon as possible, please." He closed the connection and looked down at Cormack. "Ensign!" he barked.

Her eyes flew open, but her gaze was cloudy. "Wha—?"

"Stay awake!" Phlox dashed to a cabinet across the room. He searched only a moment before finding what he sought. He loaded a hypospray with clear green liquid, rushed with it back to the diagnostic bed, and immediately injected it into Cormack's neck. She was too far out of it even to blink in reaction. He scanned her again. Not satisfied with what the results, he gave her another shot from the hypo. This time he achieved the readings he sought. It was a stop-gap only, but it should hold long enough to get the plant he needed.

"What—?" Stephanie tried again, but was unable to formulate her question.

"Just stay awake, Ensign. That's all you need to think about. Understand?" He held her face in his hands, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. "Understand?" he repeated.

"Uh-huh."

"Very good."

At that moment, Sub-commander T'Pol entered sickbay. She was dressed in a clean uniform and one would never have guessed to look at her that she'd been in decon barely ten minutes before. "Doctor—" she started.

Phlox released Cormack and turned to face the science officer. "Do you have the vine?" he interrupted her.

T'Pol was taken aback. It was unusual for the Denobulan to be so abrupt. "No, although the coordinates of the tree where we found it are recorded. Why do you need it?"

"It released a powerful opiod when it attached itself to Ensign Cormack's arm. Given time I could likely find a suitable antidote, but it's spreading more rapidly than I realized. If I can get a sample of the plant, finding the antidote will be much easier and quicker."

"I'll see to it immediately."

As soon as she'd gone, Phlox opened another comm and hailed the day's on-call medical assistant. "Phlox to Ensign Cohn."

"Go ahead, Doctor," came the reply in Cohn's light baritone.

"Please report to sickbay immediately."

"I'll be right there."

*****

"Damn," snarled Tucker. He looked over at his companion. "Sorry, Sub-commander," he said with genuine regret, "but I can't get a transporter lock without more data." Between the coordinates of the tree and the genome of the orchid, he'd thought he could track down the branch T'Pol sought. It was frustrating to find he was wrong.

T'Pol nodded. As always no emotion played on her sharp features. Transporting the vine had been an uncertain possibility, but she had thought the chance worth taking. Unfortunately it appeared it would be necessary to take a shuttlepod down to the moon to retrieve it. She opened a comm line. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead," Archer replied.

"A return to the surface is necessary. Doctor Phlox requires a sample of the vine that poisoned Ensign Cormack, and we cannot lock on with the transporter."

On the bridge, Fraser's ears pricked up at the unexpected communication. As T'Pol continued to speak, the helmsman sat frozen. She'd heard nothing about Stephanie being poisoned, and the news hit her like a sucker-punch to the gut.

"Understood," the Captain continued. "I'll have a pilot meet you in the launch bay."

Now Bonnie moved, turning to look over her shoulder at Archer, assuming and hoping she would be the pilot he sent. For a split second she was sure the Captain was about to order her to go, but then Commander Tucker spoke up through the comm.

"Captain, I'll fly the shuttle."

"All right," agreed Archer, "but I want you to stay with the pod when you get down there. Malcolm will accompany T'Pol to collect the specimen."

Trip wanted to argue, but time was wasting. "Yes, sir."

Archer closed the line. T'Pol and Tucker quickly made their way to the launch bay where they were met by Reed and crewman Novakovich.

The young scientist spoke up immediately. "I brought the containment equipment you'll need, Sub-commander," he said. Reed was already loading the case into the pod as the crewman continued. "Are you sure you don't need an extra pair of hands on this trip?"

"We got it covered, thanks," Tucker informed him.

Novakovich nodded. "Good luck." He hurriedly ascended the steps to the upper level and joined the waiting crewman in the control room.

Tucker climbed into the shuttle followed closely by T'Pol. The Vulcan sealed the hatch and sat at the starboard station. Reed was already settled at the port station.

Tucker opened a line to the bridge. "We're ready to go, Captain," he said.

"Hurry back," Archer replied.

The launch bay doors slid open and Trip took the pod out.

*****

Liz was frustrated. She couldn't see Stephanie from where she stood, and only by pressing her face against the window and squinting to one side could she make out the form of Phlox. It was starting to make her neck hurt. Then Ensign Cohn crossed her light of sight and she called to him through the comm. "Ari!" He approached the window. "How is she?"

"She's resting comfortably," the medical assistant replied.

"Resting comfortably," echoed Cutler. "That means nothing and you know it." Cohn stiffened at her sharp reply and Liz immediately regretted her tone. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried. I don't like being stuck here while my friend is sick."

"I understand." He took pity on her helpless state. "We got her uniform off of her and cleaned her up. Her shoulder has been immobilized and I replaced the bandages on her arm. Right now Doctor Phlox is studying the blood samples we took."

"Thank you," sighed Liz, grateful for the update.

If Phlox had overheard any of their conversation, he made no sign. He looked up from the neutron microscope—installed during their stay at Dekendi Three—and stretched. "There's nothing much to be done right now, I'm afraid," he announced to the two ensigns.

"What about the Regulan bloodworms?" called Cutler through the comm. "You said they're excellent for clearing toxins from the blood." 

"I've already tried that."

Cutler shot Cohn an accusing look for withholding this piece of information. "And?" she persisted.

"Two of the three I applied are dead, and the prognosis for the third isn't encouraging."

Liz blanched. "What?" Again she looked at Cohn, the only person within easy view. He gave her a small apologetic shrug as if to say, _That's why I didn't mention it._

"They were able to slow the spread of the poison, but that's all. It has a particularly complex pathology." The disappointment was clear in his usually upbeat voice. He rose and crossed the room to Cormack's bed, passing beyond Cutler's limited line of sight. Ensign Cohn followed, leaving Liz essentially alone once more.

"What are you doing?" she queried impotently.

"Patience, Liz," came Phlox's even reply.

The physician checked Cormack's vitals and snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up!" he shouted, causing Cohn to jump.

The armory ensign opened her eyes and stared at Phlox groggily. Her pupils were pinpricks and she seemed unable to focus on anything. "I'm awake," she mumbled indistinctly. "Y'don't have to shout." She shivered under the light sheet that covered her. "Cold."

Phlox frowned at this new development and looked over at Cohn. "Get a blanket, Ensign." Immediately the medical assistant complied and fetched a blanket, placing it carefully over Cormack.

"Let me out of here and I'll keep her awake," suggested Cutler, overhearing enough to get the gist of what was going on. "Then you two can focus on finding the antidote."

"Another ten minutes, Liz."

"Then get someone else to help you. Call Mae or Hoshi. Or Bonnie!" _That ought to keep Stephanie awake,_ she thought with grim humor. "One of them must be off duty right now." Cutler crossed her fingers that she was right on this point.

"That's an excellent suggestion." He turned once again to Cohn. "Hail the officers and see if one of them is free to assist us."

"Yes, Doctor," the ensign replied.

Phlox returned to the microscope to continue his analysis of the alien narcotic. "I hope Sub-commander T'Pol returns with that sample soon," he muttered mostly to himself.

Cohn reappeared in the decon chamber window. "Which officer would you recommend hailing?" he asked Cutler. A tiny corner of his mind argued about whether or not he hoped she would suggest Ensign Lawless. He ignored it. His own worries were irrelevant in the face of the patient's needs.

Liz wanted to tell him to call Bonnie, but she knew the helmsman wasn't the best choice right now. "Try Ensign Lawless first, and if she's not available try Ensign Sato." Cohn nodded his thanks and was about to follow her instructions when she added quickly, "Ari, wait. How much longer do I have in here?"

Phlox heard her and beat Cohn to the answer. "Nine more minutes."

*****

"Archer to T'Pol."

It was Reed who replied. "Her hands are full at the moment, Captain." He glanced at the Vulcan who was just sealing the severed branch with the orchid vine in a case.

"How long until you can get back up here?" continued Archer.

A nod from T'Pol confirmed Reed's assumption that their mission was complete. "We'll be back at the shuttlepod in less than ten minutes," he said, collecting up the remaining equipment.

"Good. We're leaving orbit as soon as you're aboard _Enterprise_. Archer out."

On the bridge, the captain turned to his comm officer. "Ensign Sato, alert me the moment the shuttlepod is aboard."

"Aye, sir," Hoshi replied.

"Ensign Fraser," Archer continued, "lay in a course to Paan Mokar, and be prepared to go to warp 4.5 on my order."

"Yes, Captain," answered Bonnie, immediately plotting a course.

"I'll be in my ready room."

_Stuck in the middle,_ thought Archer in frustration as the ready room door closed behind him. He sat at his desk and began to review the data on the disputed territory of Paan Mokar—or Weytahn, as the Andorians called it. He found nothing to help him with the job ahead. Everything he read led him to the belief that the Vulcans and the Andorians both had a reasonable basis for claiming the planet. There wasn't going to be an easy answer to the conflict. _You can't really have expected one,_ he said to himself. _They haven't reached a compromise in a century._

"So why do they think _I_ can help?" he muttered to the empty room. He sat back in his chair and rubbed at tired eyes before focusing once more on the computer screen.

A comm chirped eventually broke the silence. It was followed by the voice of Ensign Sato. "Bridge to Captain Archer. The landing party is aboard."

"Good. Have Fraser take us to warp."

"Yes, sir."

The comm closed and almost immediately he felt the ship go to warp speed. Beyond that initial jump to warp only Commander Tucker claimed to be able to feel the increase in _Enterprise_'s speed; Archer simply accepted that his orders would be carried out and they'd shortly be traveling at warp 4.5.

He turned back to his research with a resigned sigh. _There's got to be something that'll help me find a solution,_ he thought, but even his optimistic nature couldn't suppress his doubts. Unable to focus however, his turbulent thoughts leapt from the Vulcan-Andorian conflict to the battle being waged in _Enterprise_'s sickbay. _I hope Doctor Phlox has an easier time with his problem than I do with mine._

*****  
End Log 2:17  
_Completed 28 May 03_

Continued in Log 2:18


	18. Log 2:18

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log Disclaimer**: Paramount's characters are theirs. My characters are mine. Ensign Ari Cohn is Squeaky Lightfoot's and is used with her kind permission. Isn't it nice how everyone gets along so well?

*****

**Log 2:18**: (Takes place immediately following Log 2:17 and during that scene break about five minutes into _Cease Fire_.)  
_Rating [R] for language_

*****

The trio returning from the surface passed quickly through the bioscans. T'Pol proceeded to sickbay and began working with Phlox to take samples of the plant they'd recovered. Malcolm and Trip were close behind her, both needing to know how the patient was doing.

"How is she?" Reed asked Ensign Cohn, who was monitoring Cormack's condition.

"Stable for the moment, sir," the dark-haired medical assistant replied. "You're welcome to talk to her. In fact, I expect Ensign Lawless would appreciate the help."

"What?" Malcolm looked at Stephanie and the woman sitting beside her. He hadn't even noticed Lawless was there. "Oh." 

Tucker remained a silent presence behind the armory officer. He didn't want to interfere, but wanted to be there for his partner should Malcolm need him. 

Reed joined Lawless and looked down at Cormack, who squinted back at him. "Malcolm?"

"Yes."

"Hey."

"Hello," he replied. He didn't know what to say but was saved from further comment as the ship jumped to warp and Tucker spoke up.

"What's going on?" the engineer asked, glancing from one crewmember to another. Phlox and Cohn seemed unconcerned by the sudden change. Only T'Pol appeared as intrigued as he was.

"I'm afraid I have no idea, Commander," replied Phlox distractedly.

Cutler entered sickbay then. She'd been freed from decon a short time before and was now cleaned up and back in uniform. "How can I help?" she asked before the door had even shut behind her.

"Take over for me, Ensign," said T'Pol. "I suspect I'll be needed on the bridge."

"Yes, ma'am." She took the Vulcan's place by Phlox's side.

"I'll come with you," Trip said, following T'Pol to the door. "We're at warp two point five and climbing, and I want to know what's up." He shot a quick glance at Malcolm. "I'll find you soon as I know what's going on."

Reed simply nodded. "I'll be in the armory," he said. T'Pol and Tucker disappeared out the door. Malcolm gave Mae an apologetic look. "I need to go."

"That's okay. We're just talking girl talk," Lawless joked lamely.

"Girl talk," murmured Cormack with a lopsided smile. For some reason she couldn't fathom, she found the comment incredibly funny; she just didn't have the energy to do more than chuckle weakly.

Malcolm patted Stephanie's uninjured shoulder encouragingly. "Hang in there," he ordered firmly.

She rolled her head to one side and looked at him. "Yessir," she managed to slur before her eyes slid shut.

Immediately Mae was there to rouse her from her stupor. "Hey, the man gave you an order!" she all but shouted in her friend's ear.

"'M'wake, 'm'wake," muttered Stephanie groggily.

Lawless turned to Cohn and asked angrily, "Don't I get any help here? Why don't you give her another stimulant?"

As Cohn tried to explain and Lawless continued to argue, Reed made his escape. He very much wanted to stay, but there was nothing more he could do for Stephanie right now, and there was undoubtedly a mission update he needed to know about. Before he left, however, he caught Cutler's attention briefly.

"Yes, sir?" she asked. She blinked wide eyes, forcing her mind away from antidotes and blood samples in order to focus on the lieutenant enough to actually hear what he said.

"Can someone let me know when there's any news about Ensign Cormack?"

"Yes, sir," Liz repeated, nodding. "I'll make sure you're updated" She glanced over at her ailing bunkmate anxiously. "as soon as we have anything to tell you."

"Thank you."

Liz just nodded and returned to her work as Malcolm slipped out the door.

*****

"Three days?" Trip echoed his Captain's words in distress. "You can't really expect the engines to last three days at top speed."

"I'm not asking for a steady warp five," Archer said patiently.

"That's good, because you wouldn't get it." At Jon's sharp look, Trip shut his mouth abruptly. He'd stepped over the line and did a quick about face. "Sorry, sir."

Archer let it pass. "We're nearly twelve light years from Paan Mokar," he continued. "The situation between the Vulcans and the Andorians is extremely volatile. Admiral Forrest said they need us there as quickly as possible."

Tucker considered the situation before replying. His reluctance clear on his face, he said, "I'm sure we can get the injectors running higher than a hundred percent for a while, but I really don't want to push them too hard for too long. It won't do us any good if they crap out while we're still a couple of light years away."

"Just do what you can, Commander."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?" he asked, hoping there wasn't. He wanted to get to Main Engineering right away. He expected he was in for three very long days with very little sleep.

Archer surprised him with a non-sequitur. "Have you been to sickbay?"

"Huh? Yeah."

"How's Ensign Cormack?"

Tucker could only shrug. "I don't know. She didn't look real good, but I was only there for a minute. I'm sure the doc'll take care of her," he added, doubt and encouragement warring in his tones. "We got him what he wanted from that moon, so he's that much closer to figuring it out."

Worry furrowed the Captain's forehead as he nodded. "All right. Thanks. Now get out of here," he said with failed lightness. "I've got work to do, and I know you're itching to get back to your engines."

Trip gave him a half smile. "There's only one other place I like better," he quipped. He was slightly more successful at lightening the oppressive atmosphere and was gratified when his old friend actually chuckled.

"Don't ever tell me where that other place is."

"My lips are sealed."

*****

Cutler passed a slide to Phlox who slipped it under the viewer of the neutron microscope. It was the sixth specimen he'd examined, and so far he'd had no luck isolating the opiod that had infected Cormack.

"Her blood pressure is falling," announced Cohn abruptly from across the room. He'd been monitoring the armory ensign's vitals while Phlox and Cutler worked to find an antidote.

Lawless looked at him from her seat next to Cormack's bed. Since arriving in sickbay, she'd completely lost track of time. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, talking and making Stephanie talk back. Mae had asked her friend questions ranging from the philosophical to the ridiculous and covering such varying topics as religion, Ed Wood, sex, and baseball. Now she directed an order at Ensign Cohn. "Make it stop," she demanded.

Cohn didn't answer. He was too focused on the sudden changes in the scans. "Respiration is shallow and her heart rate is dropping." 

Phlox quickly loaded a hypospray and joined Cohn at Cormack's bedside. "Let's see if this one does the job," he muttered, pressing it against the woman's neck. He waited a moment and dosed her again. 

Cohn kept an eye on his scans. "Heart rate and breathing are stabilized but slow," he said finally. "Blood pressure is still low, but it's stopped falling."

"For the time being," added the doctor with unusual pessimism. He returned to the station where he and Liz were working. The readouts from the monitor over Cormack's biobed were being fed through to the monitor there so he could analyze the results of his work more quickly.

Cohn turned to Lawless. "Keep her talking."

"Give her more drugs!" countered the engineer angrily.

He answered her calmly. "I already explained why I can't do that. Overloading her system with stimulants isn't the answer. The first stims she was given increased the spread of the narcotic through her system; more will only make it worse."

Mae nodded angrily. She didn't like it, but she trusted he knew what he was doing. She focused again on her friend. "Hey. Look at me," she ordered Cormack sharply. When Stephanie didn't respond, Mae slapped gently at her cheek to rouse her. Her skin was pale and felt cold and clammy to the touch. Lawless continued to smack her until Stephanie's eyes sluggishly opened. "Talk to me. What're you thinking?"

Cormack only muttered incoherently in response.

"Come on! You love that stream of consciousness crap. I know you do! You're the only person I know who actually read all of _Ulysses_. Tell me what's in your head right now!"

But Stephanie was beyond communicating. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she fell into unconsciousness. It was a welcome relief to the tired woman. She hadn't slept well in quite a while, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Part of her mind wondered why her friend was trying so hard to keep her awake when just the night before Mae had encouraged her to go to Phlox for a sleep-aid. The logic escaped her.

She relaxed as darkness enveloped her.

*****

Bonnie had been hoping for a reprieve but never like this. The second Ensign Tanner had come to relieve her from her bridge shift, she made a beeline for sickbay. Controlled chaos met her there. She stood in the doorway, trying to take it in. Her searching eyes caught sight of the focus of all the activity.

To one side she saw Ensign Cohn leaning over Cormack, examining her. She watched as he set aside an empty hypospray and ran a scanner along the blonde woman's unmoving body. "She's still unconscious, bradycardic, and diaphoretic. And she's breathing at a rate of four," he reported. "Her blood pressure remains low but stable." He set the scanner next to the hypo and pulled a narrow flashlight from his pocket. He opened each of her eyes with a gentle thumb and briefly flashed the light into them. "Pupils still constricted and unresponsive."

Phlox said nothing, his grim silence describing the dire situation more eloquently than any words. Cohn rejoined the doctor and Ensign Cutler at the counter where they worked.

Still unnoticed and doing her best to stay that way, Bonnie skirted the room to where Mae sat next to Stephanie. The engineer looked tired. Fraser stood a little behind her, not ready to alert her bunkmate to her presence. She was afraid Mae would tell her to leave. After their fight last night she was certain she would be unwelcome, but she had to come even if she was only allowed to stay for a moment. She had to see for herself.

From where she stood, things didn't look good. Mae's eyes were red-rimmed—whether from exhaustion or tears Bonnie couldn't tell. The engineer was speaking softly. Bonnie couldn't make out her words, but her voice was rough as if she'd been talking for a long time.

Fraser shifted her gaze almost reluctantly to the too-still figure on the bed. She stifled a sharp intake of breath with her hand.

Stephanie's face was unnaturally pale, her cheeks a sallow gray and covered with a light sheen of sweat. There was a tube tucked under her nose, presumably feeding her oxygen. Only the slightest rise and fall of her abdomen convinced the helmsman she was breathing at all. As Bonnie drew closer, she could see Stephanie's eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids.

Mae heard footsteps and looked over her shoulder. "Hey," she rasped, then cleared her throat.

"Hey," replied the helmsman softly. "I can leave if you want me to." It was clear from her tone that she didn't want to go.

"Don't you dare." Mae coughed and cleared her throat again. "It's your turn. I've run out of stories." She fixed the auburn-haired woman with a pointed look. "There's only one I haven't told her."

"Can she hear us?" Bonnie moved closer until she stood next to the biobed, looking directly down into Stephanie's face.

Mae shrugged. "There's no way to know. Phlox told me to talk to her, keep her awake. She's been unconscious for hours, but no one's told me to stop."

"Get some rest. I've got lots of talking to catch up on with her."

Lawless rose, relinquishing her seat gratefully to Fraser. She patted the helmsman on the shoulder encouragingly as Bonnie sat. "You know where to find me if there's any news." Bonnie nodded and Mae departed sickbay.

Ensign Cohn approached again, hypospray in hand. He acknowledged the new arrival with a nod.

"What's that?" Bonnie asked, pointing at the hypo.

"It's a tri-ox compound," he replied.

"Huh?"

"She's breathing too shallowly to get sufficient oxygen. This will help her blood better utilize what she's getting without increasing her heart rate—" He was about to continue with a technical explanation but paused, sensing it would be lost on Fraser. She seemed less interested in the whys than Lawless had been, so he kept it simple. "—and that would be bad right now."

"Oh." She watched as he injected the drug into Stephanie's neck, checked her vitals with his medical scanner, and nodded in satisfaction. "Is she dreaming?" Bonnie asked, watching the frenetic movement under Cormack's eyelids.

Ari turned back to Bonnie. "Dreaming or hallucinating," he said regretfully. "Without knowing more about the poison, it's impossible to say." He gave her a sympathetic look before moving away.

Bonnie didn't even notice it. Her attention was focused on the unconscious woman on the biobed. "Hey there," she said quietly. "I hear you had a shitty day, eh?" It was banal and stupid, but it was the first thing that came to mind. She searched her mind for something to say, some story to tell. It occurred to her that now was the perfect time to tell Stephanie about their one-night stand, but she couldn't. It would be like cheating if she didn't know for sure that the armory ensign could hear her, and Bonnie wouldn't cheat.

Her scattered thoughts lit on her family and the stories she'd grown up hearing. "Have I ever told you about my great-great-grandfather? He was a Mountie—before the war, of course. Took a while to rebuild the RCMP after that, eh? Anywayhe's sort of a family legend. I don't know if half the stories about him are even a quarter true, but they're still good stories, and there're a lot of them. There was one about a case he was on—a bank robbery" It was an old, old story, lovingly embellished by each subsequent generation. She fell into the telling with practiced ease, its familiarity bringing comfort to her even if her audience didn't hear a word of it.

*****

Cormack's mind wandered

Stephanie stood at the railing of the family boat. The scene before her was the familiar skyline of Vancouver. Mid-day sun beat down on her shoulders and she looked down at her shadow in the waters of English Bay. Another shadow appeared to her right, and she smiled.

"Hey there, Daddy-O," she said without looking up.

"Hey, Spitfire. What're you doing?"

Stephanie shrugged. "Just hangin'."

"You've been 'hangin'' here a lot lately."

"Have I? I guess so. Can't seem to help it." Finally she turned to look at her father and was met by his blue-eyed gaze. He looked exactly as he had the last time she'd seen him alive. His blond curls were cropped close to his head. He was dressed all in black and carried a heavy jacket tossed casually over one broad shoulder. 'N. Cormack' was stitched in red over the left breast pocket of his shirt. It was the standard kit for an armaments specialist in the provincial militia. "How'd you know I've been here, anyway?" she asked suddenly. "I haven't seen _you_ here since Ryn got hurt."

"No one was dying since then."

"Oh. Makes sense." Stephanie nodded thoughtfully. "You mean me, don't you?"

"I don't see anyone else here, do you?"

"There's almost never anyone else here. That's what I like about it." She turned back to the railing and squinted against the light reflecting off the water.

"So what happened this time?" her father asked gently.

"Fell out of a tree."

He chuckled lightly. "You've done that before. Never killed you then."

"Never got poisoned then."

The two stood in companionable silence for a long time. They watched as the sun continued its westward arc and slowly set. Lights came on throughout the city. A soft breeze blew Stephanie's hair across her face and she tucked the unruly strands behind her ears.

It was her father who broke the silence. "So, what're you really doing here?"

"Huh? I told you. Just hangin'."

"You have better things to do with your time than stand here staring at an imaginary skyline with a dead man."

She turned and glared at him. "What a shitty thing to say!"

"It's the truth. Why are you wasting your time here? You've got living people who want to talk to you, but instead you're here talking to me."

"I haven't seen you in so long, why shouldn't I talk to you?" protested Stephanie. Her father just fixed her with one of his stern, scolding looks she remembered so well from childhood. "I miss you," she added weakly.

"I'm right here," he said more gently. "You don't always see me, but whenever you come here, I'm here, too. I'm dead, Spitfire. Light-years mean nothing to me. I'll always be right here."

Tears ran down Stephanie's cheeks, but she smiled against the pain of his bittersweet words. "Promise?"

"I only ever broke one promise in my life. I'm not going to break one again—especially not a promise to you." He wrapped his free arm around his daughter's shoulders. She sniffed, swallowing her tears and enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "So," he continued lightly, "who's this Bonnie I've heard so much about?"

Stephanie stiffened in his arms. "Nobody."

"She didn't sound like nobody last time you were here."

"Things change."

"Not for me."

"Well I'm still alive, so they do for me," she countered bitterly. She pulled away from him and leaned over the boat's railing, staring down at where her shadow had been. It was full dark now; no moon glowed in the sky. The city lights were too far away to be more than tiny sparks in the distance. The water was an inky blackness she could barely see. Only the smell of the saltwater and the rocking of the boat assured her it was still there.

"She made a mistake, Stephanie. Isn't she allowed to make a mistake?"

"That's not it."

"It is. You're just too close to see it."

Stephanie had no argument. "Whatever."

They stood in silence again, the only sound the lapping of water against the hull.

"Do you hear that?" Nicholas said suddenly.

"Hear what?"

"Listen." They stood silently listening for several seconds. "There! You must have heard that."

"I don't hear anything."

He fixed her with another chiding look she could barely see. He was a darker point within the darkness, his black uniform making him nearly invisible. Only his pale face and blond hair told her where he stood. "Of course you can. If you couldn't hear it, neither could I."

She listened harder and finally caught what he was hearing. It was Bonnie's voice carried on the breeze. There were others, too—Phlox, Liz, and a second male voice she recognized but couldn't quite place—but they were saying things she didn't understand, so she tuned them out and focused on the helmsman.

"What the hell?" Stephanie muttered. "When did she get here?"

"When we were talking," said her father. "Now shush and listen to her. It sounds important."

"Why is she talking about an Inuit warrior in a snow storm? And why would you think that sounded important?" she demanded, rounding on him.

"Shh. She's telling a story," Nicholas whispered in his daughter's ear. "Pay attention."

Stephanie and her father listened together in silence.

"A black rabbit?" she exclaimed suddenly. She shook her head. "She's lost it."

"Shhh. Listen." His voice was softer now, as if he was walking away.

"Daddy-O?" Stephanie looked around her, eyes desperately searching the darkness for her father. "Don't go!"

"Gotta go, Spitfire. Do what I say. Follow her." He was gone.

Stephanie fought back tears. She was angry and alone yet again, but she would do what he said. She'd always done what he said. Listening intently to the helmsman's voice, she frowned. "She's totally whacked," she muttered. The story made no sense, and Stephanie wished Bonnie would shut up so her dad might come back.

*****

No one paid attention to what Fraser was saying. She didn't care. Her stories were for Stephanie, not them. She spoke quietly, her lips close to the unconscious woman's ear, while the doctor and his assistants worked. Bonnie ignored them; all their medical jargon was over her head anyway.

Stephanie's eyes fluttered suddenly, and Bonnie paused in her storytelling. When nothing more happened, she continued her tale. She almost didn't believe it when she saw Cormack's lids lift sluggishly, revealing pupils so small they were almost lost in the surrounding irises.

"Stephanie?" Bonnie breathed, leaning in even closer. "Sweetie, can you hear me?" The blonde mumbled something she couldn't quite make out. "What? Talk to me."

Stephanie mumbled something else, and Bonnie strained to understand what she said.

"talkmadego 'waygo" Stephanie trailed off and turned her head away from the helmsman.

It didn't matter; Fraser had heard enough. She rose abruptly, her chair falling over behind her. The trio of medical personnel all started at the noise. "She's awake," Bonnie said, her announcement a mix of relief and pain. Stephanie was awake all right, and the first thing she'd done was tell Bonnie to go away.

Instantly Phlox was beside Fraser. "Out of the way please, Ensign," he said, his tone polite but commanding.

Bonnie stepped awkwardly aside, nearly tripping over the up-ended chair. She righted it and pulled it to one side so it and she were out of the doctor's way.

Phlox ran his scanner the length of Cormack's body and nodded sharply at the results. "The opiod is dissipating," he announced. "Heart rate rising. Blood pressure and breathing are returning to normal." He snapped his fingers in front her face. Stephanie winced and blinked several times. "Ensign Cohn," ordered Phlox.

Without needing further instruction, the medical assistant withdrew his narrow flashlight. He flipped it on and shone it into each of Cormack's eyes. She closed her lids reflexively at the intrusion and tried to turn her head away. With his free hand, he held her still; if she moved too quickly she would dislodge the oxygen feed. "Pupils are responding slowly," Ari said.

"It may take some time before they're able to react properly," said Phlox, nodding. It was the least of his concerns about the ensign's condition.

Bonnie held her breath as she listened to them. She wasn't entirely sure, but she thought they sounded encouraging. She caught Liz as the brunette passed within reach. "Will she be okay?" she asked.

Liz gave her a tired but happy nod, smiling. "Yes."

"I'll let Mae know." Fraser turned to go.

"Don't you want to be here when she's a bit more awake?" asked Liz quickly. _After the hours she's spent sitting here, she must to want to stay,_ she reasoned.

Bonnie shook her head. "She doesn't want me here. I'll get Mae." She rushed from sickbay before Liz could stop her.

Ari glanced up as he heard the door suddenly open and close. "What was that about?" he inquired.

"She's gone to tell Mae that Stephanie's going to be all right," replied Liz. She kept the rest of what the helmsman had said to herself. _She must be wrong,_ she thought. _If Stephanie knew she was here, she'd want her to stay. _But she knew that wasn't necessarily true.

Out in the corridor, Bonnie rounded a corner and took a moment to compose herself. She plastered on a smile before rushing to her quarters. She burst into the room and turned on the light, waking her bunkmate from an uneasy sleep.

"What the—?" sputtered Mae.

"Stephanie's awake!" Bonnie exclaimed.

"She's?" It took the engineer's sleepy brain a moment to comprehend. "She's awake!" she echoed once the information had sunk in.

"You should go see her."

Mae was already out of bed and pulling on her bathrobe. "I am. Are you coming?"

Bonnie shook her head, using every ounce of willpower to keep smiling. "It's better if there's only one of us getting in Phlox's way, eh? You go. I've seen her."

"Okay." Mae surprised her bunkmate by hugging her tightly. "Thanks," she said, and hurried off to sickbay.

Finally alone, Bonnie's smile vanished and was replaced by a grimace. "I suck," she muttered to the empty room. She looked around, wishing there was somewhere she could go to escape, wishing she could get off the ship and never have to face Mae or Stephanie again. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out her frustration. _I suck. I totally suck!_

*****

It would be a couple more days before _Enterprise_ reached Paan Mokar. Reed and his crew could use that time to calibrate the ship's weapons, run checks of her defensive systems, and maintain and inventory the hand weapons. Of course with everything running like clockwork already, those two days would more likely be spent doing triple and quadruple checks of the faultless systems. _And polishing the consoles,_ Reed thought wryly. _What a week._

He was still up and working at the computer in his quarters. In deference to the late hour, he'd changed out of his uniform into more comfortable clothes, but he had a little work to do before turning in. _It doesn't help that the bunk is much less inviting without Trip in it,_ he thought, glancing over at the neatly made bed. He hadn't even gotten up the gumption to turn down the covers yet.

_Ah well._ He returned his attention to the duty roster he was putting together. _Can't have what I want all the time or where would be the anticipation?_ He smiled dryly, his expression reflected ghostlike on the screen. He squinted briefly at the text before him and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over tired eyes. "Come on," he muttered to himself, "get this done and you can get some sleep."

It had been a bit of a challenge keeping up with the security crew duty roster lately. Normally he would have them prepared at least three weeks in advance, but nowadays he waited for the helm schedule to be posted. He was aware enough to know something had gone wrong between Ensigns Cormack and Fraser, so he had done his best to keep them off of the same bridge shifts ever since _Enterprise_ had left the medical conference at Dekendi Three. He'd been successful so far, but it had meant a number of late nights putting his own schedule together. His roster was never late, but it certainly wasn't as early as Malcolm liked. He only hoped this change in his routine wouldn't pique the Captain's curiosity unduly. He didn't need anyone noticing the adjustment he'd made and asking questions. After all, he'd asked himself all those questions already.

Part of Malcolm's mind told him it was wrong to pander to the vagaries of people's personal relationships. On a ship like _Enterprise_ one couldn't afford to worry about individuals' feelings regarding such mundanities as their work schedules. Another part of his mind told him that putting two volatile, reactive substances into a single container was only asking for an explosion. He wasn't averse to the idea on a chemical level, naturally, but when it came to people he tried to be a bit more careful.

_Face it,_ he said to himself, _it's not "people". It's Stephanie you're concerned about, and you're trying to protect her. Still, it's a small enough thing, and it's certainly not doing anyone any harm,_ he equivocated.

His thoughts inevitably led him to his injured ensign. He was having more trouble than usual making up the schedule, not knowing when or even if she'd be available again. The dire situation made his stomach turn with worry. The routine of writing up the duty roster gave him something productive on which to focus, at least for a little while. He had received a brief update from Ensign Cutler some time ago. It hadn't been good news. Stephanie had finally succumbed to unconsciousness, and the poison in her blood was still spreading.

Reality dictated that he couldn't protect the entire crew every minute of every day, despite his own desires on the matter. He chuckled mirthlessly. _If _I_ ruled the universe_ He shook his head at the game he and his sister Madeline used to play as children. But his mind continued on its own. _If I ruled the universe, no one I cared about would ever get hurt and I'd always get to shoot the bad guys._ It was a slightly altered version of one of his usual childhood responses.

_And Maddy would always say that if she ruled, there'd be school every day but no exams._ He chuckled again, more cheerfully this time. Slightly heartened by the fond memories, he gave the duty roster a final check and sent it off to Captain Archer for approval.

Malcolm rubbed his eyes once more and was about to shut off the screen when he spotted the 'message waiting' light blinking in a corner. "How long has that been there?" he wondered aloud. He called it up. It was a brief text-only message from Ensign Cohn. Stephanie was finally responding to treatment and had woken Malcolm checked the time. less than fifteen minutes ago. He smiled in relief and considered going to sickbay, but decided it would be best to wait until morning. Undoubtedly they would have their hands full and they didn't need him adding to the chaos. He would stop in before his duty shift tomorrow. Instead he sent a quick confirmation and thanks for the update before shutting off the monitor.

He stretched, yawning hugely. As he rose from his seat, his gaze fell once more on his solitary bunk. It looked no more inviting than it had earlier, but with one less worry on his mind he should find it easier to sleep.

*****

Morning didn't technically dawn on _Enterprise_, but it still managed to come earlier than Bonnie liked. After working Beta shift and spending half the night talking to an insensate Stephanie, the last thing the helmsman wanted was to spend today's Alpha shift staring at star-charts in Stellar Cartography.

She rolled onto her side, snarling, "Computer, alarm off." Immediately the noise ceased. Bonnie's bleary eyes took in the form of her bunkmate across the room. Mae had returned while Bonnie slept, and now the engineer slept on as the helmsman reluctantly rose. Bonnie thought about waking her, but didn't. She wasn't sure what shift Mae was on but if it wasn't Alpha the last thing Fraser wanted to do was wake her unnecessarily. She shuffled to the lav and used it, then washed her face and brushed her hair and teeth. She felt a bit more awake and coherent when she emerged, but she would feel much better with a cup of tea and some breakfast in her.

She dressed quietly and left the cabin. Once in the corridor she paused, frozen in indecision. Her heart told her to go to sickbay, see how Stephanie was, let her know how worried Bonnie had been about her. Her head told her it was a selfish and stupid idea. Stephanie didn't want her there, and certainly Phlox didn't need her cluttering up the place with her presence.

Resignedly she started towards the mess hall, debating with herself at every step until she found she was actually on her way to sickbay. She turned the final corner and stopped. There was Lieutenant Reed at the end of the corridor, just entering sickbay.

_Guess I'll come back later,_ Bonnie thought, doubting her own sincerity. She turned and headed resolutely for the mess hall.

In sickbay Reed quickly spotted Doctor Phlox. The physician was feeding the various fauna in his medical menagerie amidst a cacophony of chattering. The lieutenant glanced at the curtained area behind which he presumed Ensign Cormack lay, but if she was actually asleep in this din he would have been surprised.

"Good morning, Doctor," he said, approaching Phlox. "I hear your patient is much better."

"Yes, indeed," replied the Denobulan pleasantly. He tossed something small and furry into a cage so filled with foliage its inhabitant wasn't visible and quickly closed the trapdoor. The metal structure shook violently for a moment before falling still and silent. "That's a good girl," Phlox cooed to the unseen critter. He stood up straight and faced Reed. "Ensign Cormack is ready for a bit of company if you'd like to see her."

"I would, thanks."

"Bear in mind she's still a bit groggy, but that will pass as the last of the opiod leaves her system." Phlox led him to the other side of sickbay and pulled back the curtain enough to step inside. "You have a visitor," he announced cheerfully.

Reed stepped in beside him and caught Cormack's unfocussed gaze. "Good morning," he said.

"Hey," the ensign replied. She tried to push herself up to a sitting position only to be chided by Phlox.

"None of that," he scolded. "I'm sure the lieutenant will let it slide if you don't stand and salute." He smiled at both of them, pleased with a joke neither human recognized as such. "I'll leave you two to chat, but don't stay long," he said pointedly to Reed. Then he added in a conspiratorial undertone, "I don't think you'll find her coherent enough for much conversation anyway," before slipping out and closing the curtain.

Reed moved to stand by the head of the biobed, and Cormack looked up at him. "Hey," she said again.

"Hello. How are you feeling?"

She seemed to consider carefully before answering him. "Loopy," she said finally, a goofy smile on her face.

Malcolm chuckled. "I'm not surprised. Phlox said the drug in your system is an opiod."

"Yeah. I heard that, too," agreed Cormack. She frowned in puzzlement. "Were you hereyesterday?"

"Only briefly," he admitted. "I couldn't stay. There was a new mission I needed to learn about, and I was in the way here. You had Ensign Lawless to keep you company."

Stephanie nodded slowly. "I remember that. Then" Here she paused, frowning again. "was Bonnie here?"

He was a bit surprised at the question, but kept his voice and expression impassive. "I'm afraid I don't know. I'm sure Doctor Phlox could tell you."

"I'll have to remember to ask him." She yawned languidly.

"How's that shoulder feeling?" inquired Malcolm.

She smiled again. "It's not. Dunno what all drugs're in me, but they're keeping it nice and numb." She yawned again, raising her good hand to cover her mouth and trailing an I.V. tube with it.

"I'd best go and let you get some more rest."

Stephanie didn't argue, only asking, "Come back later with coffee?" before he could depart.

Malcolm chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." Her eyes drifted shut and she was soon asleep.

Reed slipped silently from behind the curtain and once again sought out Doctor Phlox. "She's sleeping," he informed the physician.

"Excellent. It was good of you to stop in to see her."

"I could hardly not. She asked me to bring her coffee later," Reed added with a light laugh.

Phlox nodded indulgently. "Well, it won't do her any harm. Just make sure it's decaffeinated; she needs to rest. Oh, and don't expect her to remember the request when you come back. Don't expect her to remember you've even been here."

"I understand." He gave half smile. "If she doesn't, it will make me look that much more thoughtful, won't it?" he joked, and the doctor chuckled in response.

"Indeed."

"I'll see you later then. With coffee."

Reed left sickbay and headed to the mess hall. He wouldn't be meeting Trip this morning, unfortunately. Tucker was breakfasting with Archer and T'Pol to discuss the Vulcan-Andorian situation. In fact he hadn't seen his lover since the mission briefing yesterday evening. Malcolm realized he was frowning at the thought and chided himself silently. _You'll survive. There are worse things in the world, and you're quite good at being alone._ But just because he was good at it didn't mean he always preferred it.

As he reached the mess hall, the ship shook slightly and he paused in his stride before continuing through the door. The usual almost infrasonic hum of the engines had been replaced by a more audible low grumbling as they'd increased speed to nearly warp five yesterday. Shimmies like the one he'd just experienced were one of the reasons he hadn't seen Trip, nor was he likely to have any time alone with his partner until after their current mission was complete.

_I hope it doesn't take long,_ he thought as he picked up an empty mug and ordered the drinks dispenser to fill it with hot Assam tea. He took the filled mug with him as he collected a plate of pancakes and sausage, and found a seat at an empty table. It was as he spread peanut butter on the pancakes that Hoshi arrived.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," she said. "May I join you?"

"Of course." He gestured with his free hand to the chair across from him.

"Thanks." She sat, placing her bowl of cereal and cup of tea on the table. She eyed his meal dubiously. "Is that good?" she inquired, pointing her spoon at the peanut butter-swathed flapjacks.

"Very."

"Hmm." Sato continued to look doubtful.

"Just think of them as toast, but not as dry."

"I suppose." She decided a change of topic was in order as Reed tucked happily into his breakfast. "I hear Ensign Cormack is on the road to recovery."

The lieutenant nodded. He took a swallow of tea to wash down the peanut butter before responding. "Yes. I stopped in to see her a little while ago, but she wasn't overly lucid yet."

"I'm not surprised. From what Liz has told me, the substance that plant injected into her was hallucinogenic as well as toxic." The ship rumbled again at that moment, interrupting Sato's train of thought. She fought the urge to look around and make sure none of the bulkheads had shaken loose. She grimaced. "I hate that feeling. You'd think after that neutronic storm we went through last September I'd be used to a few bumps and shimmies." She took a calming sip of tea.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Reed reassured her.

Hoshi smiled gamely. "I'm sure you're right."

*****

Mae was surprised when she woke before her alarm. After the stress and the late night, she had been sure she'd oversleep and be late for Beta shift in engineering. She wondered what had woken her, but didn't wonder too hard as the pervasive grumble of the engines peaked with a shake of her bunk.

She pushed back the covers and sat up. As usual, her roommate's bed was unmade and her pajamas were heaped on the deckplating at the foot. She shook her head. Yawning, Mae stood and turned on the cabin lights, blinking at the brightness. 

"Computer, cancel wake-up alarm." There was a soft chirp that told her the alarm had been turned off. She looked at the chronometer and smiled. "Plenty of time, assuming I'm right." She padded to the computer desk and sat down, activating the monitor. A couple of quick searches found what she sought. She smiled again. "Right on."

Rising, she grabbed a towel and her bathrobe and headed for the shower room.

Thirty minutes later she was dressed and ready to face her duty shift, but there were two things she needed to do first, both of which required a trip to the mess hall.

She collected two mugs of coffee, one blond and both sweet. She wrapped the fingers of one hand though both mug handles and carried them to the buffet. Sliding open a particular cubby, she selected two cinnamon rolls and placed them on a single plate. She took her cargo to the door where she awkwardly activated the release with her elbow, nearly sloshing coffee over the rims of the mugs. Mae took a moment to let the precious liquid settle before heading out.

At the turbolift she ran into a bit of luck. Ensign Snider was there already waiting, and the door opened just as Mae arrived next to her. "Hi," she said pleasantly. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," the strawberry-blonde woman replied as they entered the lift. "What deck do you need?"

"C-deck."

Snider pressed the buttons for both C- and D-decks.

"Thanks."

They rode one deck in silence. The door opened onto D-deck where Snider departed. Mae continued up. She hung a right off the lift and passed two cross-corridors before turning again. Finally she reached her destination. More cautious of the coffee this time, she once again used her elbow to ring the cabin's door chime.

"Just a moment," called a voice from inside. The door opened to reveal a puzzled Ensign Cohn, his dark curls still damp from the shower, wrapping his bathrobe over his blues. He froze when he saw who was at his door. "Uhhh" he stammered.

"Hi. I brought you breakfast," said Mae, disregarding the fact that it was past midday.

"Umthanks?" He was too confused and shocked to even formulate a rational question.

Realizing his quandary Mae continued. "It's a peace offering," she explained, "and I wanted to say thanksfor everything you did for Stephanie."

At last Ari regained some composure. "It's my job," he said simply. "You don't have to thank me for it."

"Maybe not, but I need to apologize. So, I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time yesterday. I know it didn't make your job any easier. Peace?"

Ari smiled despite his continued confusion. "Peace," he echoed.

"Good, then take the mugs and invite me in because I think my fingers are falling asleep." 

"I Right. Sorry." _What would Ian say if he could see this?_ he thought, for once wishing his roommate was there, then immediately retracting his wish. He was alone with Mae in a non-professional setting; the presence of his bunkmate could only spoil the moment.

Mae continued talking as Ari took the mugs and moved aside to let her enter. "You like cinnamon rolls?"

"Very much," he answered, setting the mugs on the desk and pulling out the chair for her. _He's not going to believe it when I tell him about this._

"Right on," said Mae. "I could eat them both myself, but you'd probably see me in sickbay afterward." Mae picked up the coffee mugs and handed him the one without milk in it. "To your health," she toasted, grinning.

"And yours," added Ari.

They clacked the mugs together and drank. Ari smiled in surprised pleasure. "How did you know I like my coffee this way?" he asked as Mae sat in the desk chair.

She smiled back, claiming a cinnamon roll. "It just seemed right," she answered with a shrug. "Just like Stephanie likes her coffee to suit her temperament, I guessed you might, too. I'm glad I was right."

Again Ari was puzzled. "Pardon? I don't understand." He picked up the remaining pastry and sat on the end of his bunk to eat it.

"She's blonde and bitter, like a latté," Mae elucidated. She hesitated only briefly before continuing boldly, "And you're dark and sweet."

"I" He didn't know how to take her assessment of Cormack, but her description of him was flattering enough. He smiled a little self-consciously this time and said, "Thanks." Then feeling inexplicably brave, he asked, "So what does your coffee say about you?"

Mae glanced down into her mug thoughtfully. "That I'm a closet blonde with a treacle-sweet disposition," she quipped, looking back up at Ari.

He laughed. "I never would have guessed it." Then he continued hastily lest he be misunderstood, "The blonde part, I mean."

"It's okay," Mae chuckled. "I wouldn't've expected you to guess the sweet part either after all the crap I gave you yesterday."

"Forget about it. You were under a lot of stress, and you were worried about Ensign Cormack. No hard feelings. Peace, remember?" he added with yet another smile.

Mae was about to protest, but his tone was so sincere that she could only take him at his word. "Thanks."

*****

Ensign Young entered the gym and nearly did an immediate about-face. Hoshi was there on the treadmill. She hadn't spotted him yet; he had a chance to escape. _Chicken_, his mind berated him. Fueled by the internal insult, he continued inside, crossing her line of vision as he approached the weight benches.

Sato smiled as he passed her, catching his eye and nodding hello.

He tried to look nonchalant as he gave a brief wave in return. "Hey," he said. He tossed his towel casually across a bench.

"Hi," she replied.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the hum of the treadmill and Hoshi's evenly paced footfalls.

The two hadn't talked off duty since the morning after their date, and Sato pondered how to start up a conversation with the armory ensign. _Ironic,_ she thought. _All the languages I can speak, and I can't think of anything to say._ But Ian surprised her by speaking first.

"I hear Cormack's going to be okay," he said as he chose a pair of hand weights. He began a set of warm-up biceps curls.

"That's right," Hoshi confirmed.

"That's good. The sooner she quits shirking, the sooner the rest of us don't have to pick up the slack," he added with a smirk.

Hoshi brought her treadmill to an abrupt halt and fixed him with an angry gaze. "You'd better be joking," she stated challengingly.

"What?" Ian was surprised. He paused in his warm-up to meet her glare with his own perplexed look. "Of course I am."

"Hm. Good." Hoshi started up the treadmill once more, but Ian wasn't done talking.

"You didn't actually think I was serious?" he demanded.

"I wasn't sure," she admitted.

"Christ!" He slammed the weights back into their cradles. "You honestly think I'm that cold?"

"I Of course not," answered Hoshi, flustered.

"It sure sounded like it. Thanks a lot. I thought we'd gotten to know each other better than that, but I guess not."

"I never meant I'm sorry." She slowed the treadmill more gradually to a halt this time. "I didn't mean that."

"No? You could've fooled me," he countered bitterly. "You know, I almost thought we had something the other night. Guess I'm as dumb as I look, eh? See you around." He grabbed his towel and headed for the door.

Instantly Hoshi was off the treadmill and right behind him. "Ian, stop."

"No," he spat as he crossed the room. He paused barely long enough to slap the door control open.

"Fine." Hoshi stopped in the open doorway. "I was going to apologize, but never mind." She turned and went back into the gym.

The door whooshed open behind her only a second after it had closed. Young stood there, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Go ahead then."

"Excuse me?" inquired Hoshi, raising one eyebrow eloquently.

"Go ahead and apologize. You all but called me a cold-hearted prick, so apologize like you said you were going to."

Sato eyed him, her jaw clenching defensively. "How about I all but apologize and we call it even?" she snarled tightly.

Young snorted derisively. "Perfect."

They continued to glare at each other, at an impasse. More than once Ian considered saying something, but he couldn't bring himself to admit how much her assumptions had hurt him. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he repeatedly stopped himself from saying something he would only regret. _Forget about it,_ his mind told him. _Forget about _her_. She doesn't get it, and if she doesn't get it, she's not worth it._ He wasn't entirely sure what "it" was, but he pushed the fact aside.

It was obvious to Hoshi that Ian was experiencing some sort of inner conflict, but in regard to what she could only guess. She regretted her harsh assessment of him. She really should have known better. She knew he and Stephanie were friends—not close friends, but friends nonetheless. She'd treated him unfairly. _And this isn't the first time,_ a little voice in her head said, surprising her with its truth.

Hoshi's anger abruptly deflated and was replaced with remorse. Her narrow shoulders slumped slightly. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

Her sincere statement was enough to cool Ian's boiling anger, although it didn't dissipate entirely. "Forget about it," he replied flatly.

Another silence fell, this time punctuated by the background noise of the ship's hard-working warp engines.

Again it was Hoshi who spoke. "Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?"

His hurt feelings somewhat appeased, Ian relented. "It's a start."

*****

Phlox looked up as T'Pol entered sickbay. "Good evening, Sub-commander," he said pleasantly. "Am I right in guessing you're here to visit Ensign Cormack?"

She met his inquisitive smile with an impassive gaze. "You informed me she was awake, as I had asked you to, and you implied now would be an appropriate time to speak with her," she reminded him evenly.

"Yes, of course. She's right over there." He pointed to the biobed. The curtain was partially drawn, allowing Cormack some privacy but no longer isolating her from the rest of the room.

"Thank you."

The doctor smiled. As T'Pol turned away from him and crossed the room, his smile grew coy. He so enjoyed baiting the Vulcan occasionally. He was absolutely certain she had a good sense of humor, and he randomly did what he could to draw it out. He wasn't often successful, but that didn't discourage him in the slightest. He enjoyed a challenge. Unfazed by his lack of success this time, he returned to his work.

T'Pol stood beside Cormack's bed, her hands clasped behind her. "Ensign," she began formally.

"Sub-commander," replied Stephanie. She was surprised to see the science officer; she'd never thought of the Vulcan woman as the type who made social calls. 

"You appear to be feeling better."

T'Pol's awkward conversational style convinced Cormack that she was right. "Yes, thank you. I think I could sleep for a week, but otherwise I'm good."

"What about your shoulder?"

"Well, yeah, and that. The doc's kept it pretty pain-free, so I keep almost forgetting about it," she explained. Realizing she was on the verge of babbling just to fill an uncomfortable silence, Cormack shut up.

T'Pol remained impassive at this information, merely nodding. "Has Doctor Phlox told you when he plans to release you?"

"No, ma'am. Between you and me," Stephanie continued in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm trying not to ask. I think it annoys him."

"I see." T'Pol had rarely seen Phlox annoyed about anything, but mutterings she'd heard about Cormack's past visits to sickbay led her to believe the ensign's assessment was correct. "You've made a wise decision," she informed her.

"Thank you."

Both women fell silent and once more Stephanie fought the urge to speak simply to fill the void. _Why do I think it doesn't bother her in the least?_ she wondered idly.

"You acquitted yourself admirably on the away mission," stated T'Pol suddenly, surprising Cormack. "Many people would have panicked in your situation. You remained unexpectedly calm." Now the Vulcan raised one eyebrow ever so slightly and added, "Other than your particularly colorful vocabulary."

Stephanie bit her lips, flushing slightly. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm usually a bit more professional than that on duty."

"You were under extraordinary duress," conceded T'Pol.

"Yes, ma'am," Cormack agreed readily.

"I assure you it didn't appear in my report to Captain Archer."

Comprehension was creeping slowly into Stephanie's awareness. _She's messing with me,_ she realized. _No. She'd never—_ But her thoughts cut off as she looked at T'Pol more carefully. It wasn't so much the expression on her face as the energy she currently exuded. _It's almostplayful._ Still not quite sure if her perceptions were correct or the result of the painkillers, Cormack smiled ever so slightly as she replied. "Thank you."

The tiniest inclination of T'Pol's head confirmed both her suspicions and that T'Pol knew Stephanie understood. "You're welcome," the Vulcan said. "I look forward to your swift recovery and return to duty."

"Thank you, Sub-commander."

T'Pol turned to go, pausing at the edge of the curtain to turn back to Cormack. "There will be no more climbing of trees, Ensign," she informed her succinctly.

"No, ma'am," agreed Stephanie. "There won't."

*****

It was late when Reed was finally free to stop by Main Engineering. He came armed with a tray of food for Tucker. Subtle inquiries had determined Trip hadn't left engineering since 0700, and Malcolm was positive he hadn't taken a break in all that time. He knew his lover too well to believe otherwise.

He entered Engineering and went first to the workbench that doubled as Tucker's desk during busy times such as these. He set down the covered tray and looked around. The rumble of the warp engines was far more pronounced here than elsewhere on board. For the first time he found he was glad his cabin was fairly far away. Normally he wished it were closer to where Tucker worked so it would be a shorter trip from one to the other when the younger man came off shift.

Ensign Lawless rounded the end of the warp core at that moment and stopped at the sight of him. "Lieutenant," she said in surprise. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Commander Tucker. At the risk of sounding like a steward," he joked, "I've brought him some dinner."

"I'll get him for you, but good luck getting him to sit down long enough to eat it." Before she went looking for her C.O. however, she added, "I went to see Stephanie this afternoon. I told her I'd come back later with a latté, but she said you'd already brought her one."

Malcolm wasn't sure what to say so he remained silent.

"That was cool of you," finished Mae, then she disappeared back the way she'd come.

Reed waited patiently, a bemused half-smile on his lips. It was only moments before Tucker appeared. "Malcolm," the engineer said in a pleased but frazzled voice. "What's up?"

"Dinner."

"Geez, thanks, Malcolm, but I'm too busy—"

Reed cut him off. "You've been 'too busy' for nearly sixteen hours. Don't argue. Just eat and you can get back to work that much sooner."

"But I've gotta keep an eye on the injectors, and the plasma manifolds keep trying to run hot—"

"Which is why you have a talented engineering staff to help you. Look, I don't mean to mother-hen you, and if you're genuinely not hungry, say so. I'll take the tray and go."

Trip started to protest again but at that moment he caught a whiff of what was on the tray and his stomach growled loudly, giving him away. "I never said I wasn't hungry," he said, seeing Malcolm's gratified smirk. "Thanks for bringing me dinner."

"You're welcome. Just make sure you actually eat it."

"I will."

Reed wanted to stay to be certain the engineer followed through on his words, but he didn't want to appear to be hovering. Instead he settled for asking, "Will I see you later?" He knew the answer from the immediate slump of Trip's already heavy shoulders. "I'll assume that's a no."

"I wish it could be yes, but I'm just—"

"Too busy," Malcolm finished for him.

Tucker nodded. "You understand, right?"

Malcolm forced himself to smile reassuringly. "Of course." In truth he did understand. Duty was very important to Reed, and he could hardly blame Tucker for holding his own duty as Chief Engineer above his lover's desires. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"I'll see yousometime," Trip offered lamely. "But I'm probably not even gonna see my own bed until we get to Paan Mokar, you know?"

"I know. Just make sure you manage a break every now and then before that. I think Engineering can do without you for an hour here or there."

"Right. Thanks again." Trip gestured at the covered tray that awaited him on the workbench. 

Malcolm nodded. "I'll see you later." He left quickly. 

Tucker watched him go, then glanced around engineering until he caught Lawless's eye. He waved her over.

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

"Keep an eye on the injectors for me. I'm gonna take a little break."

"Yes, sir."

"And watch that the plasma manifolds don't get too hot," he added quickly.

Lawless nodded and climbed the short flight of steps to the warp engine's main control console.

Trip pulled up a chair and sat at the workbench. His stomach growled again as he removed the cover from the tray. He smiled. There was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli—several of his favorites. He wondered if the items had just happened to be on the menu that evening or if his incredibly thoughtful lover had somehow coerced Chef into making them. Then he considered _Enterprise's_ stubborn culinary wizard and decided it must have simply been happy coincidence. He tucked into his dinner with relish.

Out in the corridor, Malcolm couldn't keep up the pretence any longer. He hadn't wanted Trip to see how disappointed he was, but once he was alone the smile fell from his face.

_You can't have expected any differently,_ he said to himself. _What is wrong with you tonight, anyway?_ He caught a lift and rode it to B-deck. _You're acting like an insecure adolescent._ The lift opened and he stepped out and continued down the corridor. _It's only been a night and a day. There have been plenty of other, much longer stretches when you and Trip were too busy to be together. That's the way life works. What's different about it this time?_ He turned a corner and continued walking.

_You're bored,_ a voice in his head told him. _Plain and simple. There's virtually nothing to do in the armory. Trip's overwhelmed with work. Stephanie's stuck in sickbay. You have nothing to do and no one to play with, so you're bored._

It was a humiliating discovery, and he was very glad no one else knew of it. Here he was, the head of security for Earth's first warp-five starship, pouting over the fact that he was bored. The sudden insight was enough to shake him out of his gloomy musings.

_That's pathetic,_ he mentally scolded himself. _Read a book, for crying out loud. You never did finish _Ulysses_, and that was a year ago. You have no excuses now. You should finish it._

He reached his destination at the same time he made up his mind. He keyed open the door to Tucker's quarters and entered. He raised the lights to half and quickly prepared for bed, for once actually donning the pajamas he had stored there. Next he took a moment to download James Joyce's masterpiece from the ship's database into a datapad. Finally ready, he turned on the small reading lamp over the bunk, turned off the overhead light, and climbed into bed.

He had something to lull him to sleep, and he was where Trip would find him should the engineer actually take the much needed break Malcolm had mentioned to him. The situation was as ideal as it could be in the circumstances. He activated the datapad, trying to remember where he'd last left off. It wasn't long before he realized the attempt was hopeless. With a sigh of resignation, he keyed the pad to page one and began to read.

*****

Bonnie was wiped out. She'd never realized before just how tiring it was avoiding someone. Somehow it had been easier to deal with when she and Stephanie were both healthy and working. Now that Cormack was laid up, it was absolutely exhausting. Bonnie figured it was the added guilt that was getting to her. Knowing exactly where to find Stephanie took her mind away from the worries of what to do should they run into one another inadvertently. When she added to it all the time she'd spent being absent or "asleep" whenever Mae was home, it became one mind-boggling and wearisome mess.

She checked the time. Nearly midnight. Mae would be back soon—sooner than Bonnie could undress and get to bed so she could pretend to be sleeping. _Somehow I doubt that would work tonight anyway,_ she thought. There was nothing else for it. It was time to go see Stephanie.

_She's probably asleep at this hour,_ her mind told her.

_Even better,_ she answered herself. _Then when Mae asks, I can genuinely say I went to see Stephanie but she was asleep._

_Coward._

_Shut up._

Bonnie stalled her task a little longer, changing out of her uniform and into jeans and a loose-fitting green blouse. She quickly ran a brush through her hair and then paused at the absurdity of her behavior. _You hope she's asleep, you're sure she hates you, and yet you're trying to make yourself look pretty? Loser._ She tossed the brush onto her bunk in disgust. She slipped on the flat-soled sandals she wore when she wanted to go barefoot but didn't think it was appropriate, and left the cabin.

She passed a handful people on her way—crewmembers coming off Beta shift or going on Gamma shift, some people who simply hadn't made it to bed yet, like herself. She nodded to a few, traded hellos with one or two more, before reaching her destination.

She stared at the door to sickbay, swallowing hard against the butterflies threatening to rise up from her stomach. _What are you so scared of?_ she demanded of herself. _It's not like she's going to try to beat you up. Even if she wants to, she's probably still too sick to do it._

_Taking your comfort in some pretty low places these days, aren't you?_

_I told you to shut up._ Bonnie shook her head. _I have _got_ to get out of the habit of arguing with myself._

Bonnie took a deep, steadying breath and entered sickbay. At first glance she thought it was empty. The lights were low throughout most of the room and the only sound of life was the quiet chattering of some nocturnal animal of Phlox's. She looked towards where Stephanie had been the night before and her glance met nothing but a concealing curtain. _Okay, so she's still here,_ Bonnie deduced. _Where the hell is the doctor? Or at least a duty nurse?_

Her question was answered when the curtain moved and Phlox emerged from behind it. Fraser started to say something, but was promptly shushed by the Denobulan. He led her to the far end of sickbay before speaking.

"Ensign Cormack is sleeping," he explained in an undertone.

Bonnie's voice was flat with disappointment when she replied. "Oh."

"You're welcome to stay." Phlox couldn't miss the slump of her shoulders and dejected expression.

"Ireally wanted to talk to her. I guess I should've known she'd be asleep at this hour, eh?" _Told you so,_ her mind said. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets disconsolately and dug a toe into the flooring.

"She's been through a great deal of trauma. She's been asleep more than she's been awake today. It's made my life much easier," quipped Phlox gently.

Fraser gave him a sympathetic half-smile. "Yeah, I've heard about her reputation as a patient."

"I think it's the feeling of helplessness that bothers her the most, but don't tell her I said that. She'll only argue with me about it at some inconvenient moment."

"Helplessness, eh?" queried the helmsman thoughtfully. She nodded. "I get that." She met Phlox's kind, patient gaze. "You said I could stay?"

"Yes. As long as you're quiet and don't wake her."

"She'll never know I'm there."

Phlox led her to the curtained bay and drew the drape back with one hand, using the other to usher her past it. Fraser smiled dispiritedly in thanks and slipped by him. She waited as he shut the drape before she turned to look at Cormack.

It was darker here, but she could make out Stephanie's face in the glow of the monitors. Even bathed in that unnatural light, her color was healthier than it had been only twenty-four hours earlier. The blanket that had covered her had been replaced by a lighter-weight sheet pulled up nearly to her shoulders. Her damaged arm was a silhouette under the fabric while her uninjured right arm lay atop the covers, connected to an I.V. Bonnie was pleased to see the oxygen tube had been removed and Stephanie now breathed easily on her own.

The helmsman rounded the foot of the biobed and sat in the chair on the other side, pulling it up so she was right next to the sleeping woman. This close to her, Bonnie could see that Stephanie was frowning in her sleep, her eyebrows furrowed together in pain or distress and her eyes darting back and forth under her lids. Even her jaw was tight with tension.

_Wonder what she's dreaming this time?_ Fraser wondered. She reached out a tentative hand, brushing a tendril of hair from the blonde's cheek. Emboldened when Cormack didn't wake, she continued to stroke Stephanie's hair gently, hoping to soothe her into a less upsetting dream. But her actions had no effect.

Bonnie began to hum very softly. It was an old song from her childhood. Her father had often sung it to her when she'd been sick or had had a nightmare. She'd always found it comforting and hoped it would have a similar effect on Stephanie. As the tune reached the chorus, she added the words.

"And you brought me down gently  
You brought me down clean  
You fed me the summer  
You fed me your dreams  
Your hands held the wound  
And heart healed the pain  
And your eyes stole the light  
Of the moon as it waned."*

Slowly Cormack's face and jaw relaxed, and before long her eyes ceased their frantic movements. Bonnie continued stroking her hair and singing in her warm, gentle alto. As the song came around to the chorus again, Stephanie's eyes fluttered and opened a crack.

"Pretty," she murmured, only partially awake.

"Shh," Bonnie shushed her gently. "Go back to sleep."

But the words only brought Stephanie closer to wakefulness. "Bonnie?" she whispered.

Fraser moved her hand away, afraid Stephanie wouldn't appreciate the intrusion of the tender gesture. "Who else is dumb enough to do the exact opposite of what Phlox told her to do?" she asked self-deprecatingly.

"Only me. Why are you here?"

Positive the inquiry was about to lead to a dismissal, Bonnie rose. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

"No. Stay."

Hesitantly, the helmsman sat back down. "I'm sorry I woke you. Phlox'll be mad when he finds out."

"Then we won't tell him. If we're quiet, he'll never know." Stephanie smiled at the younger woman.

"It's good to see you," Bonnie said, trying to hide her surprise at the warm expression. "You look a lot better tonight."

"You _were_ here before!" Cormack exclaimed softly.

Bonnie nodded. "Just before you came out of that coma or hallucination or whatever it was. You woke upand I went to tell Mae." She deliberately left out the part where Stephanie had told her to go away.

"I remember dreaming. My dad was there. And I remember Mae." She looked puzzled. "You didn't come back with her?"

"No. Too many cooks, eh? I didn't want to get in the way." It was only half of the truth.

"That explains that part of it."

"Huh?"

Stephanie fixed the helmsman with an accusing look that stood out even in the minimal light. "If I'd known it would take a life-threatening injury to get you to speak to me, I'd've hurt myself days ago."

Bonnie flushed and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

Bonnie bit back a sharp retort, willfully clamping down on her notoriously short temper. "You're right," she replied contritely. "I've been a bitch."

"You haven't been around enough to have been a bitch. I'd have preferred it if you had. At least then I'd have some idea what the hell was up."

"I need to tell yousomething." Fraser's fingers were so tightly interwoven that her knuckles were white. She wanted to release them, but they were her focal point. All of her tension flowed into her hands, allowing her to calmly look into Stephanie's eyes and admit to what she had been hiding. "Wehad sexbefore."

"Duh. I was there, remember? Big green trees, fluffy white alien squirrels—"

"No."

Her tone was such that Stephanie paused mid-barb and fell into mystified silence.

"Before that," Bonnie said. A deep breath, a steadying of nerves, and she went on. "My cousin went to UNWTin Yellowknife."

Stephanie was about to comment that she knew where UNWT was, but refrained. Instead she waited. She had no idea what was going on or what to expect, but guessed her usual sarcasm would only muddy the situation further.

For her part, Bonnie appreciated the other woman's restraint. She guessed it was as difficult for Stephanie as it had been for herself to control her own temper moments ago. She continued. "My friends and I went to visit one year. For spring break. There was a band playing." She looked into Cormack's eyes again and saw a glimmer of recognition. "Daughters of Lear." The recognition turned to horror and Bonnie faltered. _Is she horrified that I know about the band or does she remember what we did?_ her mind panicked, but she forged ahead. "My friends and I hung out after the concert. We even helped the band load up their gearthen we all went out together. There was this one chick in the band—really hot with pink hair—"

"Fuck," whispered Stephanie even more softly than they'd been speaking already.

Fraser paused, uncertain how to go on or even if she should. She got her answer when Cormack spoke again.

"That was you."

Bonnie nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

They were silent for several moments while Stephanie's stunned mind considered this revelation, analyzing and digesting it as best she could in the circumstances. Finally she asked, "Why didn't you say?"

"How? When? Wait—don't answer that. When should have been before we ever got to Dekendi Three. I know that."

"Hang on. Is that what this is all about?" she demanded only half coherently. Stephanie tried to sit up but was foiled by injuries and instruments. She snarled at both impediments then turned her blossoming anger back on Bonnie. "You've been avoiding me. You left me wondering if I'd done something so terrible you couldn't even stand to look at me. You didn't even have the decency to tell me it was over. And all because of _that_?!"

"Shhh! Phlox—"

"Don't you dare shush me!" exclaimed Stephanie, but lowered her voice anyway. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to be interrupted. "One night of drunken debauchery and suddenly I'm not good enough for you? Is that it?"

"What?" Fraser was stunned. "No! Are you nuts? I was just as drunk and stupid as you were that night. I never meant"

"Then what? You thought I wouldn't like you any more when I found out it was you?" She was less angry now, but more confused and hurt.

"No." The helmsman took a deep breath, frantically trying to figure out how to explain. _I've made such a fucking mess of this whole thing,_ she thought bitterly. _How am I going to dig my way out of it?_ "I didn't want to ruin things. Everything was going so well between us, and I didn't know what you'd say or how you'd react if you found out. I promised myselfbut I Then when I didn't and then wedid" She looked away and then back again. "I didn't know what to do. So I didn't do anything."

"Except clam up and make me think it was all my fault," accused Stephanie.

"I didn't think about it that way. I didn't realize what you might think."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said yet again.

Stephanie ignored her repeated apology. She stared into the air, not really looking at anything. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, but every word reached Bonnie's ears with distinction and precision. "You want to know what I remember from that trip to Yellowknife? Not a lot. We were doing a colleges tour and it was just one stop on the way. We did our show. We went out partying after. The others weren't quite the partiers I was, of course, but we had a few drinks with these kids we'd met. Then one girl and I kept partying long after the others were done. I think there was a frat house involved, and there was definitely a keg of something. It's all a big, painful blur. There was a lot of sex, I remember. And I'm not positive, but I think it was pretty damn good sex."

"It was," agreed Bonnie, but Stephanie either didn't hear or chose not to.

"I woke up alone, as usual, and still a bit drunkas usual. There was only one thing that made that night significant." She fixed Bonnie with a steady, unreadable gaze. "It was the last time."

Fraser's mind spun with the implication. "You?"

"I never woke up that way again—until I woke up in your bunk that morning after Ryn got hurt. The band helped me make it through the rest of the tour, and when we got home to Vancouver I got help. Professional help. So, you wondered what I'd've said or done if you'd told me before?" She considered the possibilities. "I don't know," she said at last. "And now we'll never find out."

They sat there in silence for a long time. Bonnie couldn't bring herself to leave, but neither did she want to stay. She only remained because not making a decision was once again the easiest thing to do.

Stephanie had no choice but to lie there. She couldn't have left if she'd wanted to, which she didn't. Through half-closed eyes she watched Bonnie fidget. It was obvious the helmsman didn't know what to do. She alternately stared down at her hands, then up at the ceiling, then at the bank of monitors over Stephanie's bed—never once looking directly at Stephanie.

Cormack's anger was habitually brief and faded quickly. "You said you promised yourself something."

Fraser started at the unexpected sound. "What?"

"You said you promised yourself something. What?"

"Oh." She looked down again. "I promised I'd tell you about Yellowknife before we" She trailed off.

"got to Dekendi Three?" filled in Stephanie, understanding it was the events that had occurred there rather than the place itself.

"I couldn't even keep a promise to myself. How sad is that?"

"It happens."

"It shouldn't," countered Bonnie, still angry with herself at what she perceived as a failure.

"Lots of things happen that shouldn't. Me falling out of that fucking tree springs to mind."

Fraser chuckled at Cormack's dry tone. "Shit happens?"

"Shit definitely happens."

There was another pause before Bonnie went on. "I wish I could go back in time and not fuck this up, but that's not gonna happen. I wish I hadn't hurt you."

"Hmm. I'm thinking wishes, horses There's an adage there somewhere, I'm sure."

Bonnie looked into Stephanie's eyes and couldn't find anything there but wry humor and weariness. She didn't understand. "Why aren't you mad?"

"I was. Now I'm done. I'm too tired to stay pissed off right now. If it'll make you feel better, I'll try to remember to berate you when I'm feeling up to it," the armory ensign replied through a yawn.

"That's really not necessary." The younger woman dared a tiny smile. She didn't feel she had the right to ask for a second chance—as desperately as she wanted one—but this teasing from Stephanie was a good sign. _Anything's a good sign,_ she thought, _as long as she's speaking to me._ "But I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I'll think about it. I'm not good at grudges, though. Takes too much energy to keep them up." Stephanie tried to smile, but yawned again instead. "Gods, I swear I've been asleep all day. Why am I so exhausted?"

"I'm told near-death experiences'll do that to you," joked Fraser, but when Cormack answered her tone was serious.

"Yeah. They will."

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't—"

Stephanie shook her head once on the soft pillow. "It's okay."

"I'll go now so you can sleep." Bonnie didn't move.

"Wait," Stephanie said unnecessarily. "That song you were singing"

"Yeah?"

"It was nice. Sing it again?"

"Sure." She began singing again, low and sweet.

Stephanie closed her eyes. The words and tune were soothing, and she let them lull her. She felt Bonnie's gentle hand stroke her hair, and she smiled. Soon she drifted off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

Bonnie kept singing to the end of the song, wishing it wouldn't end but knowing it had to. _Can't stop time,_ she thought as she continued to sit there and watch Stephanie sleep. _Wonder if she'll ever sleep next to me again?_ Despite the horrible circumstances that had brought it about, the night Stephanie had crashed in Bonnie's bed was one of the best the helmsman had ever spent—just sleeping next to the blonde woman had been a comfort she hadn't known existed. _At least we're friends againI think. No, I'm pretty sure._ She shook her head, not wanting to get caught in the trap of self-doubt yet again. _Burn that bridge when you get to it,_ she told herself firmly. _Right now, just go to bed._

She stood, joints cracking a bit at having sat so tensely for so long. She stretched and slipped out from behind the curtain, drawing it closed once more around the sleeping Stephanie.

"Did you have a nice chat?" asked Phlox, startling her.

"Shit!" she exclaimed softly. "Where did you come from?"

He pointed to the only active workstation. "Right over there."

"I didn't mean to wake her up," said Fraser defensively.

"I'm sure you didn't. Did you have a nice chat?" he asked her again.

She shrugged. "Yeah. I think so." Her eyes narrowed. "How did you know she was awake?"

"I still have the monitors from her biobed routed to that console." He pointed again. "Don't worry. I didn't overhear anything, although there was a moment there when I almost came over. She was a bit excited about something momentarily, but it passed quickly enough that I decided to let you stay." His smile was pleasant, but there was a hint of steel behind it.

"Wehad something to work out."

"And did you?"

"Yeah. For the moment. I think."

Phlox's smile became sympathetic and indulgent. "Ah. I understand. Good night, Ensign." He ushered the bemused woman to the door and opened it for her.

She automatically stepped through it. "Good night," she echoed as the door slid shut, leaving her alone in the corridor. Bonnie continued to stand there for several moments, lost in thought. She had deeply mixed feelings about her conversation with Stephanie, but there was one thing in which she knew she could take solace. Now that she'd told the older woman about their encounter in Yellowknife, there weren't any secrets left to keep from her. _And Mae won't be mad at me any more._ She smiled, but the smile faltered. _I hope._

*****

Malcolm woke alone in Trip's quarters to the sound of the alarm. He ordered it to shut off and took a moment to take in the resultant quiet. He didn't remember turning off the reading lamp or setting down his book, but the light was off and there was his datapad resting on the nightstand. He reached over and picked it up, surprised to find he'd even managed to mark the page.

He set it down again and continued to lie there, listening to the rumbling of the warp engines. There was no doubt in the armory officer's mind that his lover had spent the entire night in Engineering with them. He found himself hoping Trip was breakfasting with the Captain again that morning. At least it would be a break from long hours of working, and Archer was sure to notice his Chief Engineer's unusual lethargy, tired eyes, and two-day growth of blond beard. Surely he'd order Trip to take a break

Reed shook his head at his musings. He could practically hear Cormack's voice: _Project much?_ He pushed back the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. His glance caught a light blinking on the computer monitor, and he rose and went to see what it was, forgetting it probably wasn't anything to do with him.

It was a 'message waiting' light. He was about to turn away when he saw there was more to it than that. A single sentence indicated the message was coded for Malcolm's eyes only. _Who knows I'm here?_ he wondered. _Unless_ He opened the file.

Trip's face appeared on screen, tired but alert and clean shaven. More surprising, he was obviously seated at that very desk. He spoke quietly, and Malcolm had to turn up the volume to hear him.

"Hey, Malcolm," the message began. "I did what you told me and caught a couple of hours of sleep. Sure was surprised at what I found in my bed." Trip grinned. "I thought about waking you up, but then I knew neither of us would get any sleep, and seeing as you didn't wake up when I slipped in next to you, I figured you needed it as much as me." The image of Tucker turned and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the bunk. Then he faced the monitor again. "You must be wiped to still be sleeping over my talking." His expression grew more serious. "I know it's been a rough couple of days, and it's not over yet. Stop by again tonight if you want. Even if I can't join you, I can think about you here. It might encourage me to take another break, but I think I won't sleep next time." Now Tucker grinned again and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Malcolm chuckle. "I love you, Malcolm. I hope you slept well. I'll see you later. Oh! I hope I marked the right page in your book." The engineer's expression was momentarily puzzled. "I thought you read _Ulysses_ last year. Whatever. I'll see you later."

The message ended and the screen went dark, but Reed continued to sit there and smile. "You're damned right you won't sleep next time," he told the monitor firmly. With renewed vigor, he rose and grabbed a towel, slinging it casually over one shoulder as he headed off to the shower room.

*****

Cormack woke slowly to the pleasantly smiling visage of Doctor Phlox.

"Good afternoon," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty. Could I have some water, please?"

"Of course."

"And a latté chaser?" Cormack added as the physician got her a glass of cold water.

He chuckled. "Perhaps later." He punched a button to gently raise the biobed to a more upright position and offered her the drink.

Stephanie wrapped a shaky, I.V.-laden hand around it and with the help of Phlox lifted it to her mouth to drink. When she'd had enough, she relinquished the glass to his steadier hand. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. You'll be happy to know," he continued, setting the glass aside, "that the opiod is completely gone from your system."

"Good."

"So we can proceed with the surgery on your shoulder right away."

"Bad. Are you sure it needs surgery?" she queried, a hint of fear in her voice. She'd managed to conveniently forget he'd mentioned this possibility before.

"Yes. Don't worry, it's a straightforward procedure. You can even be awake for it if you'd prefer."

"Thank you, no." Cormack shuddered. She relaxed back into the pillow. "Let's just do it. The sooner it's done the sooner I can—"

"Get out of here," Phlox finished for her. "Yes. I seem to recall hearing that refrain from you before."

She had the decency to look contrite. "It's not you, Doc, honest."

"I'll take you at your word," he replied with a teasing smile.

At that moment, both were startled by the sound of the door opening, followed by the inquisitive voice of Ensign Sato.

"Hello?" she called uncertainly.

Phlox opened the curtain after a quick go-ahead nod from his charge. "Over here, Ensign," he greeted the comm officer. "Can I help you?"

"I've brought the mail." She turned her smile on Cormack. "How are you?"

"Better, thanks," the blonde answered.

Hoshi handed a datacard to Phlox. "I have communiqués for both of you," she informed them. She approached Stephanie's bed. "I took the liberty of loading yours into a datapad. I didn't know if you'd still be here or back in your quarters."

"Thanks." Cormack took the pad in her good hand, trying to ignore the slight tug of the I.V. needle in her flesh.

"I need to get back to the bridge, but I thought you two would appreciate the break in the monotony."

"You thought Phlox needed a break from me, you mean," joked Stephanie.

"Something like that," admitted Hoshi with a grin. "I'll see you both later."

"Good-bye, Ensign," said Phlox. "Thank you for the delivery."

"No problem." The comm officer left them to their correspondence.

The doctor turned to his patient. "Would you like some privacy?"

"Um, yeah, actually. Thanks." Cormack stared bemused and excited at the datapad Sato had given her. "It's from Ryn," she added.

"Your sister?"

"Uh-huh. I haven't heard from her directly since the accident. It's just been a few second-hand or dictated letters through Mom or Gemma."

"Well enjoy. Excuse me." Phlox pulled the curtain around her again, leaving her in relative solitude.

Cormack thumbed a key on the pad, starting the message from home. She was surprised to see it was an actual recorded message. Her sister preferred typing her letters; this break with tradition caused a knot of concern to form in Stephanie's stomach.

Ryn sat propped up in bed. Her normally tanned complexion was much paler than usual, except for the bright pink patches of new skin on her face and arms. Her formerly long hair was a short, haphazardly-cropped mass, lacking the usual highlights from the sun. But the warm smile on her face was exactly the same as it had always been. The smile and the sound of Ryn's voice combined to quell Stephanie's worries.

"Hey, Sis," the familiar alto voice greeted Stephanie cheerfully. "I'm sorry it's been so long, but you know how docs are. You wouldn't believe what Gemma finally had to do in order to con the hospital staff into letting her hook up a datacorder for me. I think she's going to be supplying direct feeds of Orcas games to the doctors' lounge for the next year at least—all with the Don Newcastle commentary, of course." Ryn's smile widened briefly into a wicked grin; she had no more use for the Orcas' second-string commentator, Bob Thistlewaite, than her sister did. "Of course, this means _I_ get the feed as long as I'm here, too. Which won't be much longer if I have anything to say about it." She automatically pushed her hand through her hair in the old, familiar gesture, then scowled. "Argh—I hate this short hair! I'll never understand why docs can regrow skin in a matter of hours, but not hair." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think they can, but the nurses don't want to have to deal with washing it for me until I can do it myself." She sat back and continued in a more normal tone. "At this rate it'll be six months at least before my hair is back to a proper length." She gave the camera a rueful glance, her blue eyes sparkling. "I know I shouldn't be complaining, all things considered—but hey, one of the benefits of surviving is that I still get to complain."

Stephanie chuckled despite the somewhat gallows humor of her sister's words.

On the small screen, Ryn's expression grew serious. "Speaking of surviving, I hope you're all right. I've been really worried about you ever since I heard about Marston's message, and the whole communications debacle between him, Gemma, and Mother. I'm so sorry, Sis. I know how hard that must have hit you. I can't _believe_ Gemma and Mother let their issues get so in the way that this could have happened." She ran a hand through her hair again, but this time the fierce scowl wasn't directed at her shortened locks. "I've spoken to both Gemma and Mother about it. Trust me, nothing like that will happen _ever again_."

Stephanie knew her sister rarely lost her temper completely, and even more rarely put her foot down with the people she loved—but judging from the look on Ryn's face and the implacable tone in her voice, Stephanie knew Ryn had done both. When that happened, issues got resolved and stayed that way. Stephanie just hoped that the cost to her sister hadn't been too high.

As if reading her mind, Ryn's image looked back at the screen, seemingly fixing her eyes directly on Stephanie, and the familiar wry smile appeared again. "Oh, don't worry; everyone survived it, and I'm fine. I think Gemma and Mother might even finally have found something in common—if only the deep desire never, ever, _ever_ to see me that angry again." Ryn chuckled. "That's fine with me. I don't particularly want cause to be that angry again. And a little fear can be a good thing."

Now Stephanie laughed outright. It was one of the things she and her sister had in common—a firm belief in the usefulness of judiciously applied intimidation.

Ryn visibly hesitated, and once again her eyes unerringly met Stephanie's. "I've been dreaming about Dad a lot lately." She gave a half-grimace, as if anticipating Stephanie's reaction to her statement. "I suppose it's not too surprising, given what happened. The similarity wasn't exactly lost on me. I would have been really pissed off if...well." She shrugged. "I don't really understand why I keep dreaming we're out on English Bay, but that's a separate issue. It's been good talking with him, even if it's only in my dreams. Among other things, we talked about you, which led me to realize I needed to say something to you." Her blue eyes—eyes exactly like their father's—reflected both calm and concern. "I'm okay. I think _he's_ okay. I need to know that _you're_ okay, that you're letting yourself be okay. I know how easy it would be for you to not let yourself be okay about this—_but you had nothing to do with it_. So don't beat yourself up about it—or anyone else for that matter, either. All right?" Ryn smiled, affection lightening her features. "I love you, Sis. Don't forget that while you're out there."

A chime sounded on the recording, and Ryn made a face. "Damn. I guess it's time for me to go make the physical therapists earn their combat pay. Take care of yourself, Sis, and let me hear from you soon."

The screen went dark and Stephanie sat there, staring at it with glistening eyes. She was touched by the concern and love in her sister's message, but more than that she was astonished by news of Ryn's dreams of their father out on English Bay. More than ever she wished her sister was only a comm call away. Unfortunately personal comm time was virtually impossible to acquire unless it was an emergency. Somehow she doubted unexpected conversations with a dead man counted as an emergency in the eyes of Starfleet.

A bizarre idea struck her. "Hey, Doc!" she called abruptly.

He responded quickly, pulling back the drape and stepping around it. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "No. When can you do the surgery?"

Surprised at her apparent eagerness but not prepared to look a gift-horse in the mouth, he answered, "Any time."

"Good. I'm ready when you are. There's someone I need to talk to."

"Ensign," Phlox said, his tone gentle but firm, "you do realize you're not making a great deal of sense."

"I do, but I know what I mean, and that's all that matters."

Unconvinced, the doctor pulled out his small medical scanner and ran an additional check of her system. Finally satisfied that the alien poison really was gone, he put it away again. "Very well. I'll contact Ensign Cohn to come and assist."

"Thanks."

He left her alone once more. She could hear him hailing Cohn, followed by the sounds of him presumably preparing for the operation. Stephanie smiled to herself. "See you soon, Daddy-O," she said softly. She turned her smile on the datapad still in her hand and chuckled mischievously. "And you, tooCookie."

Content for the first time in weeks, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Between her talk with Bonnie and the letter from Ryn, it felt like her life was finally back on track.

*****

End Log 2:18  
_Completed 13 June 03_

'The Man in the Moon' lyrics copyright 1993 by Bill Dickson


	19. Log 2:19

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log Disclaimer**: Ensign Ari Cohn belongs to Squeaky Lightfoot and is used with permission.  
**Author's Notes**: If you haven't read Squeaky Lightfoot's excellent addition to **Log 2:15, Party of Two**, you might want to do that now. It isn't absolutely necessary, but it'll be a bit less confusing if you do. I also recommend reading **A Gentlemen's Bet** and **Payout**. Again, it's not essential, but it is helpful. All of these can be found at www.dnashionalarchive.com.  
I've borrowed dialogue from the episode _Future Tense_ with some small alterations. My apologies to the original authors for the changes.

*****

**Log 2:19**: (Takes place shortly after _Future Tense_)  
_Rating: [PG-13] for language_

*****

With delicacy and precision, she set two datapads and a small velvet bag on the smooth, gray surface of the table. She met the expectant gazes of the five people assembled. It had been several months since their last campaign and she'd spent a fair amount of that time planning another. Recent events had made her new plan surprisingly serendipitous. She was especially pleased with her current design, although no sign of it showed on her heart-shaped face. She smiled beatifically.

"Oh shit," said Cormack. "We're doomed."

Cutler laughed and finally took her seat at the head of the mess hall table. "That's entirely up to you," she replied, opening the velvet bag and dumping an array of brightly colored dice with a clatter.

"We can't be doomed yet," opined Mayweather. Smiling at Cutler so she'd know he was only teasing, he continued. "This is only our second session for this campaign. There'd be no fun in it for her if she couldn't torment us for another half-dozen meetings."

"At least," put in Lawless.

Cormack looked at the engineer and helmsman with false indignation. "You two dare to talk torment? Whose sordid past was dredged up last time?"

"Sordid past?" Sato perked up. "I missed that."

"And you're going to keep missing it."

Young, the only first-timer in the group, looked at them all. "Can we do this now? If she's going to torment us in some way," he said, gesturing to their Game Master, "we might as well get on with it."

Once again, Cutler smiled. "Thank you, Ian." She turned on both datapads and glanced at them. "Recap?"

As the leader of the group, Mayweather spoke up. "The newly outfitted _Rescue Ranger_ is in high orbit over Mercury. Our comm officer, Kiki, has just picked up a distress call and we're trying to track down the source. Butch is at the helm, Barbarella is at the security station, and Bertha is keeping an eye on the engines."

"Are we sure we don't want Bertha at the comms?" inquired Sato of her character. "I know she's not as smart as Kiki, but with Kiki's luck we'll end up accidentally insulting any alien species we happen to meet."

"We'll cross that bridge when we meet an alien species."

"Which we haven't yet," interjected Cormack. She picked up her datapad in her good hand—her left arm was still in a sling from the incident on the jungle moon—and thumbed it on. "And according to my notes the distress call is coming through in English; we don't even need to use the UT."

"Correct," agreed Cutler.

"Can we track down the source of the transmission?"

"That depends. Give me your intelligence and luck quotients and your experience points."

Cormack didn't even have to glance at her notes. "Ten total."

Cutler passed her two ten-sided dice. "Roll."

"High or low?" The blonde woman set down her pad and reached for the dice.

"High."

"You did that last time we met, too," said Young, interrupting her mid-shake. "Why do you always ask that?"

"Huh?" grunted Cormack, her concentration broken.

"Every time Liz hands you the dice, you ask 'High or low?' Why?"

"So I know what to roll," she explained, as if it were obvious.

"But you have no control over it."

"So?"

"So why ask?"

Cormack rested her hand, still holding the dice, on the table. "Because. Now are we done? Can I roll?" she replied tersely.

"Hey, I was just asking." Young held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

"And I was answering."

Sensing tension rising, Sato laid a gentle hand on Young's forearm. "If it works for her, what's the difference?" she asked, hoping to forestall further argument. "If she gets the roll she wants, we all benefit."

Cutler decided it was time to move on. She turned to her bunkmate. "Roll," she said, cutting off any more discussion.

Cormack nodded and narrowed her eyes in concentration. She shook the dice in her hand, muttering, "Come on, baby. Mama needs a new transmission source." She tossed the dice and everyone waited for them to come to a stop. "Fourteen!" she cried gleefully.

"The transmission is coming from a space station orbiting Venus," Cutler announced, reclaiming the dice and returning them to the pile next to her.

Mayweather leaned forward. "What sort of station is it?" he asked. "Starfleet? Military? Research?"

"Intelligence, luck, and experience points?" she countered easily.

"Eighteen."

She slid three twelve-sided dice down the table to him. "Roll."

"What do I need?"

"Less than eighteen."

He rolled. There was a collective moan of disappointment when he came up with nineteen.

Cutler smiled blithely. "You can't tell, but it's definitely of Earth origin."

"All right," said Mayweather, undaunted. "Butch, plot a course for the station, warp speed. Kiki, keep hailing them. See if we can get them to respond."

"Aye-aye, Skipper!" quipped Young, noting the order in his datapad. "Course plotted and laid in."

"Let's check it out."

"As you approach the station coordinates," Cutler informed them, "you pick up unusual energy readings."

"Recommend we raise the ship's forceshield," said Lawless.

"Agreed," Mayweather responded.

Lawless looked at Cutler. "I raise the defensive shields and take scans of the energy readings. What do I find?"

Wanting to get to the main action of the campaign, the Game Master didn't require Lawless to roll before giving her more information. "The readings are unusual, but you recognize the signature of tachyons."

"Tachyons?" queried Sato.

But Lawless smiled. "You've been reading those books I recommended, haven't you?"

"How did you guess?" Cutler grinned back.

"Hang on," interjected Young. "How come she didn't have to roll for that?"

"She just didn't," answered Cutler simply. "Sometime you do, sometimes you don't. That's the joy of being the GM."

"Huh. But—"

"Ian," said Mayweather before they could get off track again. "Let it go, man. It's just part of the game."

Young shrugged, his expression doubtful. "If you say so."

Cutler didn't like where the evening kept trying to go, and it all seemed to be stemming from their newest player. Young was only slightly less versed in role-playing games than Sato, whose first campaign had been cut short when she'd had to work on a particularly difficult translation assignment. Somehow he always managed to ask his questions in the most challenging tone possible. Cutler tried to put it down to honest curiosity on his part and unfamiliarity with his personality on her own part, but it was getting difficult.

"When we're done tonight I'll be happy to loan you my copies of the various gaming handbooks," she offered pleasantly.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." 

He still looked dubious, but Cutler let it go. They had to get moving if they were going to cover any sort of ground this evening. "Okay, we were talking tachyons," she said, once more bringing the game back on track.

Cormack spoke up. "And you were about to tell us where they were coming from."

Cutler eyed her slyly. "No, I wasn't."

"Damn. I was hoping I'd get you."

"They must be coming from the space station," put in Lawless. She turned to Cutler. "Is there another option?"

"Check your scanners." Cutler passed her three six-sided dice.

Lawless rolled and announced the result. "Seventeen."

"There's no other option," the Game Master conceded.

"Hold on." Sato raised a hand to pause the conversation. "Tachyons are particles that can only travel faster than light speed, right?"

"Yes."

"And they're coming from the space station?"

"Yes, again."

"And the space station is of Earth origin."

"You're on a roll." Cutler grinned.

"Earth doesn't have the technology to create tachyons. There isn't even proof they exist; they're theoretical."

Cutler fought back a sigh. It was the same problem she'd had the first time she'd gamed with Sato. The communications officer had problems accepting things as real for the fictional world of the game.

"Willing suspension of disbelief," Cormack said before her roommate could reply. "Just like theatre. You have to willingly suspend your disbelief or none of this will work."

"Hey, back off," ordered Young defensively.

Cormack started in surprise. "What? I was just saying—"

"Well shut up."

"Excuse me?" Now the blonde woman was pissed off. "What is your problem?"

"Maybe you are," Young countered just as angrily. 

The pair rose and leaned in across the table toward one another. Everyone else responded at once.

"Whoa!" "Hey!" "Come on now!" "Chill out, you guys!" "What the hell?" The last was Cormack's.

"I said lay off Hoshi!" Young nearly shouted into Cormack's face.

She leaned closer, not put off by his angry tones and expression. "What the hell is up your ass tonight, man?" she demanded of her fellow armory ensign.

Before he could respond, Sato once again rested her hand on his arm. "Ian, relax. It's okay."

"No, it's not," he argued.

"She wasn't doing anything. Let it drop."

He shrugged her off and sulkily sat back down. "Whatever."

Cutler made a quick decision. "Let's call it a night," she said. "There's nothing so urgent in the game that it can't wait until another time."

"That's a good idea," agreed Sato readily. "It's already late, and I think we nearly all have Alpha shift duty tomorrow."

There were several nods of confirmation from the others at the table. Only Cormack didn't respond; her only duty was to show up in sickbay for physical therapy at 0900 the next morning.

"Sure," Young said sharply. He grabbed his datapad and stood again. "See you later." He was out of the room before anyone else had moved.

"Well," said Sato, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "I've had better dates."

"I'm sorry," Cormack apologized. "I really didn't mean anything by what I said."

"I know. I don't know what's wrong with Ian tonight." Sato looked thoughtful. "I'm going to see if I can catch him." She rose, tucking her datapad into a pocket. "Sorry aboutIan."

"You don't need to apologize for him," Cutler told her. "He's a big boy. He can apologize for himself."

"Once he gets his head out of his ass," interjected Cormack. All four of her companions gave her chastising looks. She remained unfazed. "You know I'm right."

Sato sighed. "I'm afraid you are," she reluctantly agreed. "Good-night, everyone."

A chorus of good-nights and one distinct call of "Good luck!" followed her as she left.

The door closed behind her and, guessing Young would be heading to his cabin, Sato turned to pursue her date. She caught up with him along a cross-corridor. 

"Ian," she called.

Despite his better judgement, Young stopped walking and let her catch up. "Hey," he said as she reached him.

"Hi," answered Sato. The pair started walking again. "I'm not used to leaving a party unaccompanied," she joked, hoping to lighten the dark mood that had fallen over Young so unexpectedly. "What happened back there?"

Young shrugged. "I don't know," he said flatly. He knew it wouldn't satisfy her, but he wasn't willing to face any other answer.

"You picked that fight with Stephanie like she was" She hunted for an appropriate comparison. "like she was crewman Rostov. What's going on?"

The armory ensign shrugged again, but his heart raced suddenly. Half-formed thoughts and a secret he had no intention of sharing were hastily shoved aside before they could come to the forefront of his brain, where he would have to deal with them. Instead he fell back on his faithful standby, churlishness, hoping she'd take the hint and let things drop before he actually had to think. "Nothing. She just gets on my nerves sometimes."

"I thought you two were friends."

"We are. Don't your friends get on your nerves sometimes?"

Sato glanced at him sidelong. "Occasionally."

Young caught the look and returned it mirthlessly. "You're funny," he said flatly.

"I'm just saying you weren't acting like yourself tonight and I want to know what's wrong. Maybe I can help?" she offered.

"I can think of a couple of ways you couldhelp," he practically leered at her.

Sato's face was a study of exasperation, her lips pressed together into a thin line. "Thanks," she said flatly, "but I don't think so. Do you?"

Young inwardly cursed his sudden and inappropriate lewdness. He wasn't even in the mood for sex—a rare enough thing in itself that it bothered him on some level—so he didn't know why he'd suggested it. _That damn 'Casanova' tag must finally be going to my head,_ he figured, disgusted. "Fine. It was just a thought," he grumbled.

"I'd hardly rate it that highly."

Young paused briefly in annoyance. He was unable to come up with a suitable rejoinder and instead picked up the pace toward his cabin. Sato hurried to keep up with his long-legged stride, momentarily regretting her sharp words.

"Listen," she tried one more time, "I just thought if you told me what was wrong we could talk it out and try to fix it."

They turned a corner and stopped in front of Young's cabin. He rounded on her angrily. "You want to know what's wrong?" he echoed. "I told you I don't know. Maybe I'm tired from covering shifts alone that should have been shared with Cormack. Maybe I'm sick of people asking me what's wrong. Maybe I'm just a jerk and it's taken you this long to notice. I'll see you around." He keyed open his door and stormed inside, leaving Sato alone in the corridor.

She glared in shock at the closed door for a moment. "Maybe you are a jerk," she muttered, then shook her head. She knew him well enough to be unable to believe it. "No. Something's going on." She pondered who might have an idea just what it was, but came up blank. She gave up glaring and headed off to her own quarters to think.

In the cabin he shared with Young, Cohn lay on his back on his bunk. He looked up at the entrance of his roommate. "Hey," he said. He promptly hit a button on the datapad in his hands, pausing the movie he'd been watching on its small screen. "I didn't expect to see you so early."

"Disappointed?" Young flopped onto his own bunk, tossing his datapad on the floor beside it.

Cohn frowned and sat up, leaning on one elbow and looking at his friend. "No. Just a little surprised. Did the game break up early?"

Young snorted derisively. "Something like that." Sensing the other man's next question, he cut him off with a word. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't ask me what happened, what's wrong, what's going on, or what's up my ass."

Taken by surprise by his bunkmate's words, Cohn laughed. "Okay. I won't. I don't think I'd want to know if there was something up your ass, let alone what it might be. Besides your head sometimes, that is," he joked.

Ian relaxed for the first time all night. Ari's easy banter made him feel better immediately. He turned to look at the dark-haired man, a smirk curling his lips. "You're sure about that?"

Ari laughed harder and nodded decisively. "Absolutely. What you and Hoshi do in the privacy of her quarters is none of my business."

Ian's smile faded at that and he stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't what he and _Hoshi_ had done together that was on his mind at the moment. Still, he tried to keep his tone light as he replied. He didn't want his friend getting curious about things he didn't want to talk about—and the one-night stand he'd had with Michael Rostov was at the top of his list of things he didn't want to talk about. "You got that right." He rolled onto his side, facing Ari again. "What're you reading?" he asked, pointing to the pad still in Cohn's hand. To his surprise, the other man blushed.

"I'm not reading," admitted Ari.

"What then? Are you watching a movie?"

Ari's flush deepened and he nodded.

His reaction piqued Ian's curiosity. He'd only asked because he'd wanted to steer the conversation away from himself, but this had become interesting. "What is it? It can't be a porn film because there aren't any in the database."

"And you'd know this because?" Ari asked, happy to deflect the inquiry.

"Because I looked," answered his bunkmate unabashedly. "There are some un-rated things that are pretty hot, but no actual porn. So what are you watching that's got you so embarrassed?"

Ari sighed. He'd known he would be caught one of these days; he wished he'd prepared a cover story for the occasion. As it was, all he had was the truth. "I'm watching _Plan 9 from Outer Space_."

"What's that?"

"It's" He sighed again and bit the proverbial bullet. "an Ed Wood movie from the middle of the 20th century."

"So?" There was nothing in this news that seemed to Ian to be sufficient to have embarrassed his friend so much.

"So he made really bad B-movies."

The light dawned. "Ohhh! Now I get it. You're watching it because Mae likes it, right?"

"Yeah." Ari looked chagrined.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. Why the hell do you think I agreed to play that role-playing game in the first place?" Ian reached over the edge of his bunk and retrieved his discarded datapad. He made sure he'd saved what little new information he'd entered that evening and shut off the device.

"You're playing because of Hoshi?"

Young nodded, trying to hide how stupid he felt about his motives in joining the game. _I'm trying to convince Ari it's okay for him, so it should be okay for me too, right?_ he thought. But after the way he'd treated Hoshi tonight, he wondered if he'd be welcomed back to the game at all. Then he wondered if he wanted to be. He shook off the thought and focused on Ari again.

"I didn't know Hoshi gamed," Cohn said, unaware of his bunkmate's inner disquiet.

"She doesn't really. She did once, but had to quit because of that translation job with the Hipon. Remember that?"

"That was ages ago."

Ian smiled slyly. "You know, Mae's playing, too. You should join us. It'd save you from watching all those bad movies."

"They're not all bad," replied Ari defensively. He glanced at the still image on his pad's screen. A police officer was caught mid-motion, idly scratching his head with the point of his gun. "Although this one isn't going to win any major awards—or any minor ones for that matter. But I bet you'd really like _Bubba Ho-Tep_."

"Is that another Ed Weed film?"

"Ed _Wood_ and no, it's a Bruce Campbell movie. You saw _Army of Darkness_ when it ran on movie night, right?"

"Oh yeah." Ian gave a one-shouldered shrug. "That was pretty funny."

"_Bubba Ho-Tep_'s even better."

Young shifted to an upright position and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. He fixed his best friend with a sardonic stare. "I can't believe this. Listen to us."

"What?" Cohn sat up as well.

"It's Friday night and you and I are reduced to spending the evening with each other, talking about cheesy movies."

"Hey, I'm not the one who bailed on my date tonight."

Ian's lips pressed into a thin line. "No, you're the one who didn't even have a date."

There was no argument for this, so Ari offered none. Instead he said, "Screw you," and lay back on his bunk. He thumbed his movie on once more.

His bunkmate continued to stare at him for several seconds before finally rising. "I'm gonna get ready for bed," he muttered. Ian grabbed a towel and headed into the lav.

*****

Jon sat back from the desk in his quarters and stretched. He rolled his head around in one direction and then the other, trying to work out the kinks in his neck from so many hours spent hunched in front of the computer screen. He'd been working steadily on his report for Starfleet Command for the past two days, but he'd had little success. He rose and crossed to his bed, sitting next to Porthos who sprawled lazily in the middle of it. Jon reached over and scratched the dog's head. Porthos yawned and rolled onto his back, deciding a tummy rub would be more to his liking. Jon chuckled lightly and obliged.

The door chimed.

Archer glanced down at his attire before responding. He supposed he ought to appear more professional before a member of his crew, but after nearly two years on _Enterprise_ he found he couldn't be bothered worrying about a crewmember seeing him in his pajamas. Anyone stopping by unexpectedly at such a late hour would just have to deal with what he or she found. "Come in," he called.

The door opened and Trip took a couple of steps into the cabin. He wasn't quite as casually dressed as the captain, but this was obviously not an official visit. Hesitating in the doorway, he pushed up the sleeves on his tri-colored shirt and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Evening, Captain. Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks." He took another step inside and the door slipped shut behind him. Trip stalled at that point. He stood there, hands still deep in his pockets. Eventually, he tipped his head towards Porthos. "He looks happy."

As if he understood, Porthos wagged his tail. It thumped against the bed in a heavy staccato, making both men smile.

"He certainly seems to be," said Jon.

Trip crossed to the foot of the bed. Finally pulling his hands out, he sat and used one to scratch under Porthos's chin. The thumping of the dog's tail increased its speed.

The old friends sat there in companionable silence for a while. Eventually, Jon spoke up. "We could sit like this forever and he'd be perfectly content," he said, indicating Porthos with the hand he wasn't using to rub the dog's belly.

"Yeah. Doesn't take a lot to keep a dog happy," agreed Trip.

Jon knew that whatever had drawn the engineer there that evening, it wasn't a little quality time with Porthos. He decided it was time to take the lead. "Something I can do for you?" he asked.

"Have you finished your report on that timeship?" Trip answered with an apparent non sequitur.

"Not yet," Archer sighed. "You'd think after all the practice I've had at writing time travel related reports, this would be a snap, but somehow it's even more difficult than the previous ones."

"But Starfleet already knows some of it. Doesn't that help?"

"Unfortunately not." Another short silence fell, once more broken by Jon. "Is that what brought you here? Curiosity about my report to Starfleet?"

There was a moment's pause before Trip shook his head.

"So what's going on? You must have something better to do with a free evening than sit here petting my dog."

"Malcolm's working on his duty roster."

"And Porthos and I are the runners up?" teased Jon.

Trip suddenly realized how he must have sounded. "No. No. Sorry," he fumbled. Finally he stopped scratching Porthos. Jon followed suit, causing the dog to open his eyes and look at both men indignantly.

Jon chuckled. "It's okay, Trip. You're welcome to stop by any time, you know."

"I know, but I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," the older man repeated. "So tell me what you're really doing here."

Trip looked his friend in the eyes for the first time since entering the cabin. "If you could know the future, would you want to?"

"That's a tough question," replied Jon thoughtfully. "I've already seen one potential future, and I didn't like the look of it. I guess it would depend on how much or what part of the future you mean."

"Malcolm said he'd want to know, but I don't think I would."

"Are you talking about something specific, or just 'the future' generally?"

"Huh?" Trip was momentarily taken aback. He very rarely lied to Jon, but this time he did so without hesitation. He shook his head. "Nothing in particular."

Porthos rolled over onto his belly at that moment and barked once. Instinctively, Trip reached out and rubbed the dog's head, causing the beagle's long ears to flop comically. There was more on his mind, but he didn't know how to say it without giving away a secret he wasn't ready to share.

"So," the engineer said, "that device that Daniels left behind Have you everyou know?"

"Used it to learn something about the future?"

Trip nodded.

"Only when I haven't been able to find another option."

"Like that timeship. You used it to figure out when that ship had come from."

"Yes, but you already knew that," Jon pointed out.

"So you haven't tried to look ahead and see where our mission is going orwhere the crew's lives are going?"

"No, I haven't. I'm not sure how much of any of that would be in there. I suppose the major points in our mission are probably mentioned, but I doubt there are a lot of specifics."

"I asked Daniels once if he could tell me how far _Enterprise_ would get that day. He said their records weren't that detailed," agreed Trip dully.

Jon looked at him inquiringly. "Then why did you ask me about it if you already knew the answer?"

"No reason," the engineer lied for the second time that night.

"No reason?"

"No. Justidle curiosity, I guess."

"Your mind sure goes to unusual places when you're bored," joked Jon.

"I'm not bored."

"No?"

"No." This was the truth. Trip's mind was too busy for him to be bored; he simply couldn't tell the captain what was keeping his mind so busy. He knew he could trust Jon, but there was a part of him that felt it would be a betrayal of Malcolm to discuss this with someone else first. _Never mind Malcolm doesn't have a clue what's on my mind,_ he thought, almost annoyed with the irony of it. Aloud, he followed a different, more tangential course. "So, how detailed do you think Daniels's records are on non-mission stuff?"

Jon observed Trip closely as the younger man continued to sit there petting Porthos. He was clueless where this conversation was going. In fact he wasn't sure it was going anywhere at all; it just seemed to wander from topic to topic. He wondered what was going on in his old friend's head to lead him along such random paths. "What kind of stuff do you mean?" he asked. "I know there's a lot of technical data stored on that device. Are you looking for something that'll improve the efficiency of the warp engines?"

"Actually I was wondering if there waspersonal information in there. Like personnel records, family trees, that sort of thing."

"Family trees?" Jon was surprised. "I don't know." Suddenly he regretted not having more time to pay attention to his friend's well-being. There was something eating at Trip, and Jon had no idea what it was. A thought struck him. "Is this about Ah'len's baby?"

Trip was genuinely surprised. He stopped rubbing Porthos's head and sat up straight. "What? No! Funny," he continued in a tone completely devoid of all humor, "I haven't thought about Ah'len in months. Her little girl must be around a year old by now." His shoulders slumped and a disgusted expression planted itself on his face. "I always thought when the time came I'd make a pretty good dad. Now I wonder. I actually carried that baby for a while, and I haven't even thought of her in months. Is that awful of me?"

Jon shook his head. "No, that's not awful of you," he reassured him. "And I'm sure that when the time comes you'll make a great dad."

"When or if."

It was said so quietly that Jon wasn't sure Trip had meant it to be out loud at all. "Trip—" He paused, not knowing what he intended to say.

"Yeah?" Trip looked over at Jon and it was clear from his expression that he wasn't aware his comment had been overheard.

Jon forged ahead. "Am I really the person you should be having this conversation with?"

Trip feigned confusion, hoping the captain wouldn't recognize it as fake. "You think I should talk to Doctor Douglas or Phlox?"

Jon fixed him with a stare that called his bluff.

Trip lowered his head, knowing he was caught. "No, I know who you mean."

"You said Malcolm was working on the security duty roster, right?" asked Jon. He received a nod in return. "I don't think he'd mind if you interrupted him—not for something important."

Trip shrugged noncommittally. "That's debatable," he replied. He rose and headed to the door. "I should let you get back to work, too. Sorry I interrupted you."

Jon gave him a wry look and gestured to the languid puddle of happy dog lying in the middle of the bunk. "I obviously wasn't working that hard when you 'interrupted'."

This elicited a small smile from Trip, which was just what Jon had been hoping for.

"Still, I should let you get back to it. I'll see you later."

Before Jon could even say good-night, Trip made his escape. Jon looked at Porthos who, sensing eyes on him, opened his own and met his master's gaze.

"So, what did you make of that?"

Porthos's answer was definitive. "Woof!"

*****

From the start, Cormack had found physical therapy to be a tedious and painful process. Today was no different—except for one thing. Today she might not have to put back on the sling she'd been wearing for the past two weeks. This faint hope kept her focused and intense during the morning's session.

Cormack was sweating slightly by the time Phlox was finished with her. The ship's physician fished a medical scanner from the pocket of his smock and used it to examine the ensign. Cormack was impatient for the results, but she concealed her anticipation by reaching with her good arm for a nearby towel and using it to mop her damp face. It was all she could do not to hold her breath. She let her healing arm rest lightly in her lap, crossing mental fingers that her efforts to stick to the strict physical therapy regimen would shortly pay off.

After what seemed an inordinately lengthy pause, Phlox looked at her and smiled. "You've made excellent progress, Ensign," he told her cheerfully. "I'm going to inform Lieutenant Reed that you can return to light duties tomorrow."

Despite his words, Stephanie refused to get her hopes up. "Don't lie to me, Doc."

"I don't lie to my patients," Phlox assured her. "You're cleared to return to light duties tomorrow, providing you continue to come here for physical therapy until we both feel you're fully healed. You needn't wear the sling any longer, but remember to be careful with that arm, hm?"

Cormack could barely stop herself from cheering. "Excellent! Whatever you say, Doc!" She leapt off the biobed and waved a none-too-fond farewell to the discarded sling that remained behind. "Ta-ta, you bloody harness," she sneered happily.

"I meant what I said," Phlox continued firmly. "_Light_ duties only, and I expect to see you back here every other day."

Cormack was so pleased she didn't even argue. She was looking forward to doing all the little things she'd been unable to do for what felt like forever. And knowing she would be back at work the next day allowed her to enjoy the rest of her last free day. She smiled broadly. "Not a problem. So, I'm done with physical therapy until day after tomorrow, right?" she asked. She wanted to be sure there were no misunderstandings.

"That's right."

"Groovy! In that case, I'm going to take a shower, give my hair a proper washing, and put on some real clothes. I've had enough of elastic waistbands to last me a lifetime," she said, glaring down at her baggy slip-on pants. "And I never thought I'd say this, but I am so looking forward to putting on a bra. Do you realize I haven't been able to reach behind me to hook one all this time?"

"I was aware of the impediment," answered Phlox wryly, "but I admit that the bra issue hadn't occurred to me."

"It would if you were carrying a couple of kilos of unsupported weight on your chest. My back is _exhausted_."

"I could reduce the size of your breasts for you, if you'd prefer it," the doctor offered reasonably.

Cormack visibly blanched. "Bite your tongue!" she exclaimed, aghast. Then she grinned. "You'd do me more favors if you invented self-adhesive anti-grav units to put under them."

Phlox's eyes twinkled as he replied. "I'm afraid that's more Commander Tucker's department than mine."

"Somehow I don't think I'm going to ask him. So," she continued, completely jumping conversational tracks, "I'm good to go, eh? You'll let Lieutenant Reed know to put me back on rotation tomorrow morning, and all I have to do is find out what assignment he gives me, and we're back to normal? _Light_ normal," she amended as she saw Phlox was about to remind her.

"Correct."

"Cool! See you day after tomorrow!" Still grinning, she left sickbay and headed for her cabin. Once there, Stephanie took a moment to stretch to her full height and more, going up on her toes and reaching toward the ceiling with both hands. Then, relaxing, she put both hands to her head and scratched at her scalp furiously. She leaned over and let her hair hang, still scratching. Finally satisfied, she stood up straight, shook out her ragged curls, and heaved a happy sigh. "That felt _fabulous_," she announced to the empty room. "Next order of business" She sat at the computer and typed up a quick note. She read it through to make sure she wasn't missing any important details before sending it off. Hopefully she would have a reply by the time she got back from the shower.

"Shower," she mumbled happily, eyes bright with anticipation. As quickly as she could, Stephanie gathered up everything she needed for a long, hot shower and headed out.

*****

Ian's morning started earlier than usual. He had a stop to make before heading on duty and he wanted to be sure he had plenty of time. He planned to catch Hoshi in her quarters so he could apologize for being such a prick the previous night. He'd been confused and tense, and consequently pissed off; and he'd unfairly taken it out on her.

Surprising his bunkmate, who was only just waking up, he said, "Catch you later," and left the cabin.

He caught a turbolift and reached Hoshi's cabin quickly. Only Hoshi wasn't there. He rang the chime three times, but there was no answer. Guessing she was already in the mess hall, he reversed his path and headed back down to E-deck.

_Maybe I can talk to her over breakfast,_ Ian thought. He really wanted to make amends with her if he could before going on duty.

In the mess hall he struck out again. Not seeing her immediately, he got himself breakfast and sat down to eat it and wait. _She must have been in the shower when I stopped by,_ he managed to convince himself. But time grew short and there was still no sign of her. He had to accept the fact that she was more than likely already at her station. _Damn. The comm systems are still being repaired,_ he remembered suddenly. _I bet she's already on the bridge._

So, leaving the last of his meal behind, he headed quickly to the bridge.

The lift doors opened and his supposition was immediately confirmed. There was Hoshi, flat on her back next to an engineer Ian couldn't identify because they both had their heads inside the base of the communications station. He cursed inwardly. He couldn't even tell her good morning.

Stymied and annoyed, he swallowed his frustration and nodded to Sub-commander T'Pol at the science station as he crossed the bridge to tactical. Travis arrived only seconds later and relieved Ensign Tanner at the helm. When several minutes passed and the Captain didn't appear, Ian guessed he was already in his ready room. That meant T'Pol was in command. It was going to be a quiet shift.

Three hours later, Ian desperately wished for the shift to be over. It was shaping up to be a tedious and lousy day and all he wanted was an end to it. Normally he liked bridge duty, especially those occasions when it was Alpha shift. He liked the feeling of responsibility and command that he usually got then. And even if the day was completely dreary, like today, he almost always had the side benefit of being able to see Hoshi at the comm station across the bridge. But between his rude actions last night and the fact that she was under her station as much as at it, he couldn't even enjoy that.

He fought back a sigh, ran yet another routine scan, and tired not to watch Hoshi and Ensign Snider working on repairs to the communications station. Not that he had anything against Snider; he didn't know her well enough to have an opinion on her one way or the other. What he didn't like was seeing them working so closely together in that cramped space.

Watching them, he felt like he was torn in two. A significant part of him wished he were the communications engineer so he would have an excuse to get that close to Hoshi. Another more realistic part suspected he'd find that position as inhospitable as a depressurized airlock this morning. He was positive Hoshi wouldn't welcome his company right now. They hadn't exchanged a word all morning. While he understood that this was perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances, he couldn't help but grow more frustrated about it as the day progressed.

_At least with Sub-commander T'Pol in charge the quiet's not so obvious,_ he thought morosely. It was always quiet on the bridge when T'Pol was in command. Ian likened it to the feeling one got inside a library; you didn't speak unless it was absolutely necessary. _ Hoshi can give me the cold shoulder all day and no one will think twice about it—but me._

For her part, Hoshi hadn't even noticed Ian was at the tactical station until nearly an hour into Alpha shift. All her attention was focused on Snider and the repairs. She briefly wished she could take a moment to talk to Ian, even if it was only to say hello, but she knew this was neither the time nor the place. She'd have to try talking to him later. _Assuming he's actually willing to talk today,_ she thought skeptically. After last night, she had her doubts.

Brushing the thought aside, Hoshi slid out from under the console where Snider still worked. She got to her knees and leaned on the console. "Ready?" she asked the engineer.

"Ready," the strawberry-blonde woman answered.

Sato tapped in a command. The result was instantaneous. The console sparked, startling both women and everyone else on the bridge.

"Shut it down!" ordered Snider, unable to see that Sato was already doing just that.

The sparking stopped, but a light haze of smoke lingered over the comm station. Sato sighed and rested her forehead on her arm for a brief moment.

Across the bridge, Ian regarded her with worried eyes. He wished he could go to her, just give her shoulders a quick massage, anything to make her feel better. But even if it hadn't been generally inappropriate behavior, he knew it would only have annoyed her more. He was sure she was still mad at him. He accepted that she had every right to be. He'd been a prick. It was as simple as that.

"What happened?" Sato asked Snider as she once more joined her under the console.

"We must have missed a short in the power grid for the theta-band transmitter array," the other woman replied. "But I'll be damned if I can find it."

"Perhaps," said T'Pol from the science station next to them, "you would both benefit from a short break. I've observed that humans often miss obvious solutions when they are too close to the problem. And you, Ensign Snider, have been here since before I came on duty."

Sato and Snider sat up and exchanged a look. "Yes, ma'am," said the engineer. She didn't think it wise to inform her superior that she'd in fact been there since the start of Gamma shift.

Sato spoke up. "Thank you, Sub-commander, but we're so close to being finished" 

"I could use a little food," admitted Snider almost apologetically. She, too, wanted to get the job done as soon as possible, but she recognized the sense in what T'Pol said.

Reluctantly Sato nodded her agreement. "Okay," she said as she climbed to her feet. She reached down a hand and helped Snider to rise. "I'll hail Ensign Donnelly to cover my station."

"I'll do it," Ian offered before she had a chance to act on her words. The rest of the bridge crew all eyed him in surprise. "I mean," he continued, trying not to appear as flustered as he felt, "if it's only a short break there's no point getting Ensign Donnelly up here. I can cover the comms and still run my scans."

Mayweather smirked at him from the helm station. He was lucky Ian was the only one in view; the three women were all behind him. Ian glared at him briefly, which just made Travis smirk more. He knew what the armory ensign was up to and he supported the effort to make nice with Hoshi. He also found it highly amusing.

T'Pol turned to look once more at Sato. "Ensign?"

Hoshi looked at Ian in mild surprise. He responded with a small, hopeful smile. "That would be fine. Thank you," she said, returning his smile.

"I'll expect you both back in thirty minutes," T'Pol informed the women.

"Yes, ma'am," Snider and Sato both replied and left the bridge.

In the turbolift on their way to E-deck, Snider spoke up. "That was nice of Ensign Young," she commented casually.

Sato nodded slowly in agreement. "Yeah." She was still a bit puzzled by his actions, but decided to take them as a good sign. She nodded more definitely. "He's a pretty good guy." _Usually,_ her mind added. She chose to ignore it.

*****

Evening found Stephanie and Bonnie sharing dinner, just as Stephanie's message to the helmsman had suggested. It wasn't cozy and romantic as the armory ensign would have wished, but it was still good. At least Bonnie wasn't in uniform for Gamma shift yet; she'd have plenty of time to change after eating and before the late-night shift began. Stephanie could almost pretend, looking at her companion's green blouse that so perfectly brought out her green eyes, that they would be able to spend the entire night together. It was a pipe dream and Stephanie knew it, but she still liked to pretend. Bonnie had been stuck working almost exclusively on Gamma shift since shortly after _Enterprise_ had left Dekendi Three. While Stephanie was recovering from her injuries, they'd found it relatively easy to spend time together. Now, however, things were about to change.

"So I'm on Alpha shift again starting tomorrow morning," Stephanie said over the top of her water glass. "Any idea when you're going to get a change in your duty schedule?" Heart racing in hopeful anticipation, she took a sip and waited for the answer to her question.

Bonnie sighed heavily. It was her own fault she was on Gamma shift. She'd requested the change after her freak out over her relationship with Stephanie. Now that things were less confused and their relationship was moving forward, she thoroughly regretted her hasty request. She shook her head. "I wish I knew."

"Maybe if you asked to be switched back? You'd earned a spot in the Alpha shift rotation. Sub-commander T'Pol's got to take that into account, eh?"

"Maybe." Bonnie was dubious. She picked at her food and didn't meet her date's encouraging gaze.

"It can't hurt to ask," insisted Stephanie. "Then we'd still get to spend time together, even though we'll both be working again." At the redhead's continued hesitation, her gut clenched in self-doubt. "You do still want to spend time together, right?"

"Yeah!" answered Bonnie quickly, finally looking up.

"Okay. Good. Because for a second there you were looking a bit 'ugh', you know?"

"The 'ugh' was for the idea of asking the sub-commander to put me back on regular Alpha shift duty, not for you," the helmsman hastened to assure her.

"You had an easy enough time asking her to take you off Alpha shift," accused the blonde.

"Bullshit," protested Bonnie. "It was not easy."

"Okay, sorry. But you did it, so you can do the opposite." It seemed perfectly obvious and straightforward to Stephanie. She didn't understand Bonnie's obvious reluctance.

"Easier said than done," the helmsman said, "but I'll do it. I'm way beyond sick of working nights anyway."

"Right. And now you have a really good reason not to work nights any more." Stephanie fixed her with a lascivious gaze and wiggled her eyebrows.

Bonnie chuckled grimly. "I doubt that's going to matter a rat's ass to Sub-commander T'Pol—not that I intend to mention it."

"Yeah, I suppose not," Stephanie conceded, her expression turning serious. She took a bite of salad and considered the problem. "When you asked the first time, did she want to know why you wanted to change shifts?"

Bonnie thought about it before answering. "No," she said finally. "She just said she'd take my request into consideration, and next thing I knew I was on Gamma shift."

"Then there's no reason to assume she'll ask this time, either."

"That's logical." Bonnie smirked at her own joke and was rewarded with an amused smile from her date.

Stephanie raised a single eyebrow and inclined her head ever so slightly. "It is."

*****

Malcolm was alone in his cabin, but he knew he wouldn't be for long. Trip had caught him in the corridor outside the mess hall at lunch that afternoon and asked if he was free tonight. He'd said he was and now he was doing his best to make the statement true. It didn't take long. He made a quick addition to tomorrow morning's duty roster—adding Ensign Cormack to the group scheduled for the armory—and sent it off to Captain Archer. It felt good to have his full team whole and healthy once more.

He glanced at the time and rose from the computer abruptly. Trip would be there any moment and Malcolm was still in his uniform. He didn't know what, if anything, his lover had planned, but when they'd spoken earlier it hadn't sounded like it would be work. Whatever was on the evening's schedule, he didn't care to meet it in his Starfleet gear. He opened his closet and pulled out a worn pair of blue jeans that he knew Trip particularly liked on him, then selected a black t-shirt to go with them. He changed quickly and, deeming his uniform fit for a second day's duty, hung it in the closet for the morning.

As he debated whether it was worth the effort to put on shoes, the door chimed and then opened. Trip entered and Malcolm smiled at him. His smiled faded a bit when the engineer didn't return it. He tried to ignore the feeling of trepidation that crept into his belly. "You look good," he said, eyeing Trip appreciatively. The blond man was also in jeans, but wore a western-style shirt and cowboy boots with them. Malcolm adopted a Southern accent, asking coyly, "Why doncha come in and set a spell?"

The tease was lost on Trip, although he nodded and said, "Thanks." He passed by his lover and sat in the desk chair. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and staring alternately at the floor, the wall, and nothing.

_Anywhere but at me,_ Malcolm realized. He had the sudden, absurd wish that he'd put on shoes before Trip's arrival. He felt somehow at a disadvantage without them. "What's wrong?" he asked bluntly.

"Nothing."

Malcolm waited, knowing it was a lie and knowing his partner would get to the problem in his own time.

Eventually, Trip spoke up again. "I was thinking about something." There was another pause as he apparently thought about whatever it was a bit more. "It makes sense. We spend most nights together, anyway," he added off-handedly.

"What makes sense?" asked Malcolm, confused. "Because at the moment, it isn't you."

The engineer looked up at last and fixed his lover with an intense blue stare. "We should move in together."

Malcolm was struck dumb. The suggestion had come completely out of the blue and he had no idea how to react. He sat on his bunk, using the moment to collect his spinning thoughts. "Move in together?" he echoed, stalling.

"Yeah." Now that the idea was out in the open, Trip's earlier reticence vanished. He sat up straighter in the chair. "I mean, we'd get to see each other more than we do now. And we wouldn't have to worry about 'your place or mine?' whenever we want to spend the night together; we'd just be at _our_ place every night."

"I see." Malcolm was doing his best to keep the feeling of panic in his gut from entering his voice. "And did you think we'd both move into this cabin or yours? Or did you have another idea in mind?"

Trip shrugged, eager for the result but indifferent on the specifics. "Either one'd be fine, but my place is a little bigger. It's not a lot, but every centimeter counts, right? But if you'd rather I moved in here with you, that'd be fine," he added hastily, not wanting to seem pushy. "Either way, we'd want to order a bigger bunk from the quartermaster. The ones we both have are okay, but for every night you want something a little roomier," he added with a knowing leer.

Malcolm stared at him in silence and slowly Trip's enthusiasm ebbed. The fears he had harbored for the past few days, which he'd talked elliptically to Jon about, suddenly hit him like a cresting wave, washing from his head all the way to his toes. And it all stemmed from the timeship they'd found.

When _Enterprise_ had discovered the ship from the future, Trip had felt excited. It had given Malcolm and him a chance to really work together, exploring the strange ship's dimensionally transcendental interior and later trying to make sense of the futuristic homing device. It was while they were engrossed in the latter that the conversation that now haunted him had taken place.

_Reed leaned on the worktable next to Tucker, making notes in a datapad as the engineer made adjustments to the mysterious device before them. "If Daniels came here and offered you the chance to go to the 31st century, you wouldn't take it?" he asked the engineer suddenly._

Tucker considered the question then shook his head. He met Reed's expectant gaze evenly. "Some things are better left a mystery," he said.

Reed scoffed, chuckling lightly. "And you call yourself an explorer."

Despite his humor, Tucker wasn't entirely sure the armory officer was joking. "Where's the fun in exploring if you know how it all turns out?" he countered, eyes once more focused on his task. He was having no luck using the sonic screwdriver on the device, so he set it aside. "Hand me that micro-caliper?"

Reed stood straight, setting his datapad aside. Wordlessly, he fished the requested item from the toolkit and handed it to Tucker before reclaiming his pad and leaning on the table once more.

The engineer continued on his earlier line of thought. "Suppose you could look into some future book," he said, "and find out the name of the person you're gonna marry." He used the micro-caliper to gently grip the clear cylinder in the center of the futuristic contraption and turn it slightly. He was rewarded with a flickering glow from what he hoped was the power grid. "Would you want to know it?"

"Absolutely," Reed replied without hesitation. He smirked slightly. "Think of all the awkward first dates I could avoid."

Again, Tucker wasn't entirely convinced Reed was kidding. He felt a twinge of frustration that even after all their time together he wasn't able to read his partner as well as he would have liked. He kept his eyes on his work as he went on. "Fine. So one day you meet this person. You go out a few times, and you pop the question. This person says 'I do,' and the two of you live happily ever after."

"Sounds perfect."

"Now" Tucker fixed Reed with a stare. His heart pounded but he kept his expression blank and his tone even. "did you marry for love, or because some book told you to?"

The armory officer seemed oblivious to the import of Tucker's question. "If we're 'happily ever after,' what difference does it make?"

Trip's stomach had lurched unpleasantly at that moment, just as it did now. "You don't think it's a good idea, do you?" he asked flatly.

Malcolm considered his answer very carefully before speaking. "I don't know what to think," he admitted finally. It was obvious from the crestfallen look on Trip's face that this wasn't what the engineer wanted to hear. Malcolm tried to explain. "It hadn't occurred to me until just now when you suggested it. You've had time to think about it, I think I just need time, tooto let the idea sink inif that's all right with you?" he added uncertainly.

"Sure," Trip said too quickly. "That's fine. That's a good idea. I shouldn't've sprung it on you like that."  


"No, no!" protested Malcolm. "It's all right."

They were as awkward and uncomfortable as two teenagers on their first date. Neither knew what to say or do next and yet another silence fell.

"How long having you been thinking about this?" Malcolm broke the silence.

Trip shrugged. "A couple of months off and on. A lot more since" He hesitated, unsure whether or not he wanted Malcolm to know his whole motivation.

"Since?" prompted the dark-haired man.

Trip looked at him from across the room, taking in every inch of him, from his bare feet to the tiny lines of tension that crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Remember working on that transmitter? The one from that future ship, that we thought was a black box at first?" Malcolm nodded, puzzlement clear on his face. Trip went on. "You wondered what I'd do if Daniels showed up with a round-trip ticket to the 31st century."

"And you said you didn't want to know what was going to happen in the future," said Malcolm, filling in the blanks but still not sure what the puzzle would add up to be.

The engineer nodded. "But you" He hesitated again. It took all his effort to meet Malcolm's deep blue gaze and go on. "When you said you'd want to know who you'd end up marryingwhat if you'd looked ahead and found out it wasn't me?"

For the second time that night, Malcolm was dumbfounded. He'd thought the conversation Trip spoke of was idle chatter, nothing more meaningful than a talk about the weather. Apparently his lover had taken it far more to heart. "I I don't know," he stammered at last. "I never thought you were serious. It's not as if we really could look into a future book and find out."

"Sure we could."

"What?"

"That device in Daniels's quarters. You know the security code for the door lock. We could go in, take it out, and have a look. No one would even know."

Malcolm's eyes went wide. "You're joking. Even if I thought it contained that sort of information, I couldn't do that."

Trip wasn't surprised by Malcolm's response to his suggestion; he hadn't truly believed the older man would go for it. And he knew the chances that Daniels's database of the future actually did have that kind of personal information was slim at best. He gave a half-hearted shrug. "It was worth asking. But you still haven't answered my question."

Malcolm was about to protest that he'd given the only answer he presently had, but something made him pause. The overly casual way Trip slouched in the chair and his false aura of relaxation—both belied by the look in his eyes—combined to draw Malcolm to an unforeseen conclusion.

"Trip," he said with some anxiety, "are you saying you want to get married?"

Another pregnant pause enveloped the room, falling like a wool blanket over the senses of both men.

Trip took a long, slow breath before answering. "Nottoday, buteventually, yeah." He looked at his lover and almost couldn't go on. The expression on Malcolm's face was unreadable, a blank even more devoid of emotion than a Vulcan's. He swallowed his fear and continued. "I'm old-fashioned that way," he explained almost apologetically. "Marriage, family, and all. I'm not saying it's something I have a concrete plan for. When we left Earth and I got that Dear John letter from Natalie" He paused briefly. Was it his imagination, or had Malcolm just tensed at the name? He went on. "Well, I wasn't looking for romance any time soon after that. Then you I love you. When I look into the future, even without any help from Daniels and his toys, I see you."

"I" Malcolm wasn't sure if his heart had simply stopped or if it was beating so quickly he couldn't feel the rhythm. "Idon't think about the future. Not in the way you mean." He found it difficult to put the way he did think into words, but he tried hard to do so. He owed Trip that much. "I think in the here and now. If I'm looking at all into the future, it's to consider consequences of present actions, and in my line of work those are usually in the very near future."

"I'm not talking about your line of work," snapped Trip. The hurt look on his face had quickly succumbed to his building anger.

"I know you're not. I'm just trying to explain why I haven't thought about us the way you have."

"Well if you don't see us going where I see us going, what do you see?" Trip demanded accusingly.

It was Malcolm's turn to be snippy. "I don't see us ending, if that's what you're implying."

"That's comforting."

"Trip." Malcolm took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His problems were his own and he had no right to take out his anger with himself on Trip. He looked at the younger man's irate and expectant face; Trip was waiting impatiently for him to finish whatever he had begun to say. "I used to think the way you doabout the future in general, I mean. I used to plan grand adventures andromances." He fought the urge to stop. It had been so long since he'd planned anything beyond the next duty roster or away mission—longer still since he had made any plans for a future with another person.

Trip's glare softened as he watched emotions he couldn't identify cross his lover's face. Malcolm looked to be fighting a war inside himself, and Trip didn't even know what the sides of the war were, let alone which would win. He started to say Malcolm's name, but the older man held up a hand to stop him and he fell silent.

After a tense pause, Malcolm went on. "You know I don't make friends easily. You know there aren't many people I trustemotionally, that is, not professionally. That's completely different," he added with some irony. He looked at Trip as if waiting for a reply. Trip just nodded. It was all Malcolm needed. "Have you ever wondered why?"

Trip nodded once more, but this time he took a chance and spoke up. "I figured it was something to do with your folks," he said, a hint of apology in his voice; he didn't want to upset his partner more if his assumption was wrong.

Malcolm gave a single, mirthless chuckle. "That's certainly a part of it, yes," he agreed. "There's more, of course. I'm sure you've guessed that by now." Another nod from Trip. A joyless smile from Malcolm. "Yes."

When Malcolm hesitated yet again, Trip jumped in. "You don't have to tell me. I mean, I'm here if you want to talk about whatever—_who_ever it was who hurt you so bad, but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

The tension drained from Malcolm's face and body like water wrung from a sponge. He truly hadn't wanted to go on. Even though he knew he still should, he leapt on Trip's words like a drowning man grabs a life preserver. "Thank you."

"Just do me a favor?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Try to think about it? About us, I mean. Even if you just think about the idea of us moving in together. Will you do that?"

It meant a lot to Trip to take that step forward in their relationship. It was obvious in his face, his eyes, in every muscle in his body. Malcolm nodded again. "I will."

It wasn't as much as he'd hoped for from this evening, but Trip was satisfied for the time being. There was one other thing he wanted to make clear, however. "All right. Now you need to know that if I ever meet whoever it was who hurt you so bad, I'll kick his sorry ass from Earth to Draylax and back again. And we might even make a detour to Vulcan along the way."

The younger man's firm declaration was almost enough to make Malcolm smile. "That would be difficult. I'm not at all certain he's still on Earth."

"We're not on Earth, either. That doesn't mean I won't make good on my promise. A Tucker never goes back on his word." Now Malcolm did smile a little. Trip saw it and grinned in response. "That's better. Now, unless you're done with my company for the evening, how about you invite me to make myself comfortable?"

Ignoring the fact that this was precisely what he'd done when Trip first arrived, Malcolm played along. "Why doncha take off yer shoes and stay a while?" he said in the same accent he'd used when inviting Trip in.

"Don't mind if I do," answered the younger man. He promptly kicked off his boots and placed them neatly to one side. Catching Malcolm's tiny but appreciative smirk out of the corner of his eye, Trip added, "Hey, I can learn. You want to watch a movie?"

"All right, but no Bela Lugosi or any of that lot."

"Actually, I was thinking of Humphrey Bogart and _that_ lot." Trip smiled suggestively and wiggled his eyebrows.

Malcolm laughed. This was what he liked—no thoughts of the future beyond the evening and night ahead of them. "You know, we never seem to be able to get through that entire film without _something_ distracting us," he said in feigned puzzlement.

"Yeah," agreed Trip, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of padded handcuffs. He spun them casually on one finger as he called up the film on the computer. He paused to dim the cabin lights before joining Malcolm on the bed. "I wonder why that is?"

*****  
End Log 2:19  
_Completed 3 Sept 03  
Continued in Log 2:20_


	20. Log 2:20

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:20**: (Takes place shortly after _Future Tense_ and immediately following Log 2:19)  
_Rating – [R – language, suggestive situations]_  
**Author's Notes**: Ensign Ari Cohn and med-tech Savario D'Angelo belong to Squeaky Lightfoot and are used with permission—as is her vicious little plot bunny. ;-  
**Spoilers**: Squeaky Lightfoot's Boys in Peril fic, Pinned Down

**Thanks** to Squeaky for her medical beta brilliance.  
**Thanks** also to RocketMan for his techno-babble assistance. Everyone should have a plasma physicist for a friend. :-)  
**Thanks** as well to Idris, editrix extraordinaire, for keeping me honest and not letting me get away with anything.

*****

"Good morning, everyone!" called Cormack cheerfully. She descended the metal stairway to the lower level of the armory, an unaccustomed bounce in her step.

Reed was the first to reply. "Good morning, Ensign. Welcome back."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled broadly. "It's good to be here."

Ensign Young and crewman Martinez exchanged doubtful looks, but neither spoke up. They both wondered if Cormack knew the plan for the day was maintenance. Her next question confirmed their suspicions that she was ignorant of the dreary shift ahead of them.

"What's the plan this a.m.?"

"Maintenance," Reed announced.

Cormack's face fell the tiniest bit, but she sucked it up and asked determinedly, "Where do you want to start?"

A ghost of a smile curled the corner of Reed's mouth at her reaction. He wasn't aware of anyone who actually enjoyed routine maintenance, but everyone on the armory team took a turn. It wasn't Cormack's turn now, strictly speaking, but Phlox had made it abundantly clear that she was to be restricted from any strenuous duty until he said otherwise. This was the easiest way for Reed to keep an eye on her activities. He wasn't even planning to allow her to crawl about in the jefferies tubes; Martinez or Young would be given that duty when it became necessary. Cormack could monitor the systems.

"Gamma shift ran full diagnostics overnight," the lieutenant informed them. "Most systems are operating within acceptable parameters, but there are a few issues we need to address before going on to routine maintenance." He moved to the armory's main control station between the two forward torpedo tubes, and the others followed him. He called up the results of the previous night's diagnostics. "First and foremost, their scans picked up an anomaly in the power supply to the phase cannons." He tapped a couple of buttons and the area in question was centered and magnified on the screen. "The fault originates in section Q-33, but one of us will need to go in there to determine the extent of the damage."

Young eyed the data closely. "The readings suggest more than the usual wear and tear you'd expect," he commented, frowning.

"Agreed. However, considering the battering we took from the Suliban and the Tholians, it's not surprising. I suspect Commander Tucker's crew have their work cut out for them as well." In fact he knew this was the case. He and Tucker had discussed it briefly that morning. The high-warp chase with their Suliban pursuers had put as much strain on the engines as the attacks had put on _Enterprise_'s weapons and defenses.

"I'll go in," offered Cormack eagerly. She was excited by the prospect of a little physical activity, even if it was just crawling around in jefferies tubes.

"Martinez will go in," Reed contradicted. Cormack's disappointment showed for a split-second before she got her expression under control. The lieutenant noticed but didn't let it affect his decision. He looked at crewman Martinez for confirmation of his order. She nodded in understanding, and he turned his attention to Ensign Young. "I want you to monitor the power grid from here. Cormack and I will be at the secondary control console monitoring Martinez's progress."

"Aye, sir," said Young.

"Let's get to work."

Young took his station at the main console and called up schematics on the phase canons' power grid. From there he could keep an eye on anything within the system. Should another fault appear while the officers and Martinez were focused on the current problem, he would be the first to know and could alert them to any possible danger.

At the same time, the other three moved off toward the starboard bulkhead. Martinez paused at an equipment locker and took out a toolkit. She added a pair of power relays and nitrogen valves—the most likely mechanisms to need replacing. Next to her, Cormack withdrew a communicator from the locker and handed it to her.

"_Gracias_," Martinez said with a smile. She took the communicator, activated it, and tucked it into her sleeve pocket.

Reed had the access panel to the jefferies tube off by the time she was ready to go. Martinez climbed through the opening and, pushing her toolkit ahead of her, began to make her way toward section Q-33.

Cormack went to the secondary control panel and called up a trace on Martinez's communicator in order to more easily follow her progress. Q-33 wasn't far, and the crewman reached it quickly. "She's there," Cormack announced after only a few moments. She opened her own end of the comm and hailed Martinez. "What do you see?"

There was a pause before the other woman responded. Presumably she was scanning the damaged area. When she did reply, her voice betrayed more than her words, and her words weren't encouraging. "The power relay between primary plasma conduits Z-8 and Z-9 has degraded more than 52%," she announced.

"Any sign of plasma leakage?" Reed asked, joining Cormack at the console. She stepped aside to allow him full access to the panel.

"No, sir."

"All right. I'm redirecting power from the unit and shunting the plasma flow off to secondary conduit Zed-alpha," he announced, his hands already ahead of his words.

"Reading full power shut down here," Martinez said through the comm. "Plasma flow through the unit has ceased."

"Let us know when the new relay is in place."

"Aye, sir."

A warning light flashed on the armory's main control console. "I'm reading a surge in the power grid, section Q-31," Young announced from his post. "It looks like there's a micro-fracture in conduit Zed-alpha that scans didn't pick up before."

"I see it," said Reed. He tapped in a series of commands on the panel before him. If he could reroute the plasma flow again, he could shut off the damaged secondary conduit. Better still, once the new power relay was in, he could route it all back where it belonged.

As he worked, Cormack grabbed a scanner from the equipment locker and began to take readings of the area in question. It was directly behind the bulkhead that housed the secondary controls. "It's getting hot back there," she stated tersely.

"Martinez, have you got that relay in yet?" Reed asked through the open comm.

"Nearly, sir," came the crewman's reply.

"The extra plasma flow is overloading the conduit, and I can't get it to re-route to another one. Damn it!" he cursed in frustration. "Martinez!"

"I'm having trouble completing the connection," she said anxiously. "It refuses to seal properly."

"Leave it. Get out of there!" he shouted into the comm, his hands flashing over the controls like a concert pianist trying to finish the Minute Waltz in under thirty seconds.

Young's voice rose in pitch, tension tightening his vocal chords. "The power grid is destabilizing!"

"Temperature approaching critical," confirmed Cormack, just as Martinez emerged from the access shaft.

"Everyone out!" Reed commanded, eyes and hands never wavering from their objective.

"Sir—" Cormack started to protest.

In that moment, the secondary conduit blew. The bulkhead behind Reed's console exploded, sending burning metal flying like shrapnel. The force of the explosion threw him and the two women half way across the armory. Reed had only a split second to note the searing pain in his chest and face before slamming into the staircase. His head struck a metal tread, knocking him into oblivion.

The blast tossed Martinez like a rag doll. The wind was knocked out of her when she impacted the nearby starboard torpedo bay. She slumped to the deck, desperately trying to suck air into her lungs. Sharp pain met her attempts, making it that much harder to catch her breath. When she finally managed a deep inhale, she was overwhelmed with the bitter, acid-tasting smoke of the plasma fire. She coughed and gagged, the sudden contraction of muscles causing fresh agony to pierce her side.

Cormack landed hard on the deckplating, her newly healed arm twisted painfully underneath her. _Phlox is gonna be pissed,_ she thought absurdly. She tried to roll onto her other side, but found that arm to be more useless than the one below her. She forced her aching left arm to lift her to a sitting position. Wondering why it wouldn't respond to her commands, she looked down at her useless right arm. The charred fabric of her uniform was indistinguishable from her burned flesh. The immediate shock passed and was replaced by pain. She screamed.

Only seconds had passed, but in that time all hell had broken loose in the armory. Emergency claxons blared at near-deafening levels. Flames licked the starboard bulkhead. The smoke was rapidly becoming too thick to see through.

Protected from the worst of the blast, Young was the only one still on his feet. "Lieutenant?" he shouted from his post between the two forward torpedo tubes. There was no response. He could hear Martinez coughing, and Cormack's scream had sent a shaft of terror down his spine. Cormack never screamed. Still, he didn't dare leave his post; the emergency fire-dampening systems hadn't responded. He worked frantically to shut down the plasma flow to the overloaded conduit, but without the main line to pour it back into, his options were severely limited. "Shit! Stephanie! Juliana! Lieutenant! Someone, answer me!"

To his surprise, it was Cormack who responded. "The lieutenant's out!" she yelled back. She had managed to climb to her knees and could see that much through the growing haze. She crawled, one-armed, to where Martinez still sat slumped against the torpedo. "Can you move?"

Martinez nodded, less certain than she pretended. "I think my ribs are broken," she gasped through the smoke and pain.

Ignoring her own distress as best she could, Cormack helped her to rise. Both stood bent over at the waist to stay below the rising fumes as much as possible. Martinez clutched at her injured side. "Get out of here," Cormack ordered her, although she could barely see the door through the thick smoke. She shoved the injured crewman in roughly the direction of where she believed the exit to be. "Alert" The rest of the order was cut off as she inhaled fumes and coughed violently.

Martinez needed no further urging. She found the door and went through it, smoke billowing after her.

The flames that were centered at the gaping hole in the bulkhead were spreading. The heat was scorching even from across the room and it was rapidly growing more and more difficult to breathe and see. Tears streamed down Cormack's face as she fought her way to her unconscious C.O. She went to shake him in the hopes of rousing him, but stopped herself just in time. Burns and lacerations scored his face and chest, and blood matted the back of his head from where he'd hit it on the stairs. _Better to leave him unconscious,_ she concluded quickly. She ignored the fact that she couldn't tell whether or not he was breathing. She had to believe he was.

"Get the hell out of here!" Young bellowed from across the room. He tried to bring the fire-dampening systems online manually, but they wouldn't respond. His hands flashed over the control console, but nothing worked. He had to think of something else or they, and everyone else aboard, would be dead.

"I'm not leaving you behind! Get over here and help me get Malcolm out!" Cormack hollered back. She managed to maneuver Reed into a position where she could get her hands under his arms. Using all her willpower to force her injured limb to function, she took a firm hold of the lieutenant and began to pull him towards the exit.

Young never moved from the main control console. "I can't! The fire's spreading, and automatic shutdowns and environmentals aren't working. I've got to vent the atmosphere before this whole place blows!"

"Ian, come on!" Cormack shouted, making painfully slow progress with her burden.

"I'm right behind you," Young insisted.

Cormack tried to protest, but inhaled another lungful of acrid smoke and choked. Struggling, she finally got herself and her C.O. clear of the door. Before she could release him and go back in after Young, it whooshed shut. She hit the comm panel. "Ian?" she called, gasping clean air into her burning lungs. There was no answer. "Ian!" Still nothing. "_Fuck!_"

*****

"Armory, respond!" Archer demanded. He stood next to the main comm station where Ensign Sato tried desperately to open a connection to the armory. Tension creased the captain's brow and he pressed his lips together tightly to keep from snapping at the young woman. _She's doing what she can,_ he reminded himself repeatedly. He looked to his left, practically skewering T'Pol with his gaze. "What can you tell me?"

The Vulcan's reply was more terse than usual. She was clearly agitated by the unexpected and inexplicable emergency. "Damage reports are coming in now. An explosion has ruptured an interior bulkhead, cause unknown."

"Life signs?"

"Four." T'Pol looked up long enough to catch Archer's gaze. "That is the number of crew scheduled on today's armory duty roster," she reminded him.

He nodded. He'd thought that was the case, but he was grateful for her confirmation.

"Sir," said crewman Zabel from the tactical station. Archer spun to face him. "Just before the alarms went off I read a spike in the plasma flow through section Q-31. That would put it behind the armory's starboard bulkhead."

"That is consistent with current readings," confirmed T'Pol, her attention back on her console. "The temperature in the armory is rising rapidly."

"Armory emergency systems are off-line," added Zabel.

"Damn it!" Archer whirled on Sato. "Haven't you established a link yet?"

The comm ensign winced but responded evenly. "The armory's interior comm is off-line. There's nothing to link to."

"And _outside_?"

Her voice belied none of her own fear about what was going on in the armory and, more importantly, what was happening to the people down there. "It's open, but it's linked somewhere else on board. Tracing it now, sir." It took only a moment to find the connection. "Sickbay."

Archer's first instinct was to order her to break into the connection, but good sense prevailed. If someone was talking to sickbay, there had to be a reason. He turned back to Zabel. "Get a team and get down there."

"Aye, sir." Zabel was across the bridge and into the turbolift almost before he'd finished speaking.

"T'Pol?" The Captain turned back to his second in command. "Are they clear? Can we seal off the area?"

"No. I'm still reading one individual inside the armory," she replied evenly.

Archer once more looked at Sato. "Get me Tucker."

Internally, the young woman heaved a sigh of relief. This was something she could do. "Go ahead, sir."

"Archer to Tucker."

Tucker's voice came through the comm anxiously. "What's going on, Cap'n? I've got warning lights going off like fireworks, and it's all coming from the armory."

"We're still trying to find out. I'll meet you on F-deck."

"On my way."

Archer strode purposefully to the lift. He glanced at T'Pol as he stepped inside. "You have the bridge."

*****

The moment Cormack and Reed were clear, Young engaged the emergency overrides and sealed all the armory doors. Then he worked like a man possessed. Sweat poured down his face and he could feel the growing heat of the plasma fire begin to cook his skin through the minimal protection of his uniform. The fire-dampening systems had shorted out from the initial blast, and the torpedoes nearest the blaze were coming dangerously close to overheating. If he couldn't put out the fire quickly they would explode, taking _Enterprise_ and her crew with them.

His best chance was to vent the armory's oxygen and replace it with nitrogen. It wouldn't be a healthy atmosphere for him, but it would only last a few moments—just long enough to snuff the fire. He was sure he could hold his breath until it was safe to start the oxygen flow again.

He activated the manual air-recycling system and ordered it to its fastest rate. New alarms rang, warning him of the danger of being stuck there without breathable air. He shut them off. Before the atmosphere became too thin, he took as deep a breath as he could, fighting the urge to cough as the hot, smoke-laden air burned his throat. He watched the readout on the console where the environmental conditions were displayed. The oxygen level was already down to 10% and continuing to drop. He mentally urged it on, glancing over his shoulder to where the fire still raged and spread.

8%Ը%Զ%Գ%

Young felt the heat of the fire increase as it flared suddenly before going out. He would have grinned at his success, but he was in a hurry. He couldn't hold his breath forever. He refocused on the main control console only to be confronted by a blank, dark screen. His eyes widened in horror. _It must have shorted out with that last flare,_ he thought frantically. _But there are back-ups!_ his mind insisted. If he could just reactivate it But that command sequence was controlled from the secondary console, which was now nothing but a blackened, charred mass of metal and plastic.

His lungs began to ache, demanding he take in fresh oxygen. But there wasn't any. _Environmental back-ups,_ his spinning brain told him. _By the door._ At least if he couldn't get them activated, he should be able to override the doorlock and escape that way. The rest of the ship's air cyclers could handle the extra nitrogen; it just wouldn't be pleasant for the people in the immediate area.

He stumbled toward the door, waving an arm in front of his face to clear the smoke from his eyes. He reached the staircase and grasped the railing for support. It was a mistake. The metal had been super-heated by the plasma flare and still retained more than enough residual heat to burn his hand. Instinctively he pulled it away, crying out at the sudden, blazing pain. Too late, he realized his second mistake. His cry had allowed the little oxygen left in his lungs to escape. He gasped and choked, unable to breathe. In his last moment of clarity, he reached for the door's control only to fall to the deckplating as blackness overwhelmed him.

*****

"Ian! _Fuck!_" Cormack slammed the heel of her good hand against the comm. "Armory to sickbay. Emergency!"

"Phlox here."

"Lieutenant Reed's hurt, unconscious. Martinez is injured..." She glanced down at crewman who half-sat, half-laid against the opposite bulkhead. Martinez was ashen with pain and a glistening of red around her lips suggested more than the broken ribs she'd presumed earlier. "maybe a punctured lung? I—I don't know. Young's still inside. We need help!"

"I'm on my way."

In sickbay, Phlox closed the comm. He turned to see that both ensigns Cohn and Cutler had already gathered emergency medical kits. Cohn handed him a third kit as Cutler hailed two emergency med-techs and ordered them to F-deck. The trio rushed out.

The moment she heard the connection close, Cormack hailed the bridge.

T'Pol's modulated tones responded. "Ensign, report."

"There's been an explosion. Ensign Young is trapped in the armory. I can't override the locking code on the door. It's sealed" She broke off, coughing as a stray wisp of smoke re-aggravated her throat. "environmental shut-down," she managed to gasp.

"A rescue team is already on the way."

"Too slow!" Cormack protested. "You need to override the atmospheric controls, flood the armory with oxygen." She guessed that Ian had followed through on his intentions and flushed the oxygen from the room in order to extinguish the fire. She only hoped he hadn't panicked and vented the entire atmosphere. _He's smarter than that,_ she tried to assure herself, but she knew too well how foolish mistakes could happen in a panic situation.

"Understood." There was a pause. "Armory atmosphere is returning to normal. The door will unlock automatically when the cycle is complete."

Before Cormack could reply, the corridor suddenly filled with people. To her muddled brain, they seemed to appear out of nowhere. There had been only the three of them—Reed, Martinez, and her. Now it felt like half the crew were there. The chaos was nearly overwhelming. She felt herself being pulled away from the armory door and fought to stay where she was. Ian was inside. She had to get him out.

"Stephanie!" It was Liz Cutler. "Stop fighting me! You're hurt. I need to treat you."

"But—" Her protest was stifled as she finally identified Zabel and Griffith working to open the door to the armory. "The atmosphere's not normalized yet," she tried to tell them. "Give it a second."

Tucker was the only one who seemed to hear her, but his attention was immediately ripped away by the sight of Reed's burned and bleeding form being transferred to an anti-grav gurney by med-techs D'Angelo and Northfield. "Jesus Christ! Malcolm!" He pushed through the crowded corridor to the lieutenant's side. "What the hell happened?"

Phlox scanned the injured man while the med-techs lifted crewman Martinez onto the second gurney. "Plasma burns, multiple lacerations, minor head trauma." He recited the damage like a laundry list and it infuriated Tucker.

"Minor?! He's unconscious and bleeding! God damn it, get him to sickbay!"

"I am working toward that goal, Commander," replied Phlox tersely.

Carefully, Cutler led her bunkmate out of the chaos. "Come on. You're only in the way." She pulled a hypospray from her med-kit and pressed it against Cormack's neck. Instantly the armory ensign felt better. She breathed more easily and the pain in her arm faded to a dull throb. Her senses clearer, she looked around.

Phlox's brief altercation with Tucker had died out as quickly as it had begun. Now the Denobulan was issuing orders to his team. Despite her triage training, most of his words were over Cormack's head, but the med-techs obviously understood. They secured first Reed and then Martinez to gurneys and promptly whisked them away.

Archer saw Tucker watch them go. He moved to the younger man's side and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine," he said softly enough that only Tucker could hear him. The engineer nodded, tight-lipped and not trusting himself to speak.

Cohn caught Phlox's gaze and said, "I'll stay here until they get Ian out. Right now the others need you more than I do."

"All right." Phlox nodded and followed the med-techs.

"We're going with them," Cutler informed her bunkmate gently, guiding the injured woman away.

"They need my help," argued Cormack, indicating the perfectly capable rescue team.

"No, they don't. Let's go." Cutler spared a moment to give Cohn a supportive look. "I'll send a med-tech back as soon as I can."

He nodded tightly. "Thanks."

"The door'll open on its own any second," shouted Cormack as she was being led away.

This time the others heard her, but it didn't matter. At that moment the door to the armory unlocked and slipped open.

T'Pol's voice came over the comm, startling everyone but Cormack. "Atmosphere has normalized. You should be able to access the armory now."

"We're in," answered Archer as Zabel and Cohn preceded him inside. The devastation was extensive, but nowhere so much as in the collapsed form of Ensign Young. The young man was sprawled just inside the door; it was necessary to step over him to enter the room.

Cohn knelt by his best friend's side, the terror in his gut shoved aside by his training. He had to remain detached and analytical if he was going to do Ian any good. "Help me get him on his back," he ordered Zabel. They carefully rolled Young over onto his back, and Cohn felt a pang of relief to see there was little physical damage immediately apparent. Then his stomach lurched as he realized Young wasn't breathing.

Cohn checked for his pulse without success, his scanner promptly giving him more bad news. "He's in respiratory and cardiac arrest," he informed Zabel, his newly drafted assistant. He handed the security crewman a pair of large scissors that he'd taken from his medical kit. "Get the top of his uniform off." As Zabel unzipped Young's coveralls and began cutting away the black shirt and blue tank underneath, Cohn quickly attached defibrillator lines to the scanner he was holding. The second Ian's chest was bare, he slapped them on. The scanner's beeping changed to an ominous monotone. "Flatline," Ari breathed. "Non-shockable rhythm." He reached into his open med-kit and withdrew a bag-valve mask. He fixed Zabel with an intense look. "Your CPR training is up-to-date, right?"

"Yes, sir," the crewman replied.

"Good," Cohn replied tersely. "Start." 

As Zabel began compressions, Cohn pulled out his intubation kit from his bag and got the equipment ready. In a matter of seconds, he had Young's head tilted back and mouth open. "Stop," he ordered the crewman. "I'm going to insert the tube now." Zabel stopped and Cohn cleared a path for the tube. _Please go in!_ he prayed, gently but firmly sliding the tube past Young's larynx into his lungs. The tube slid in with no resistance. Cohn let out the breath he'd been holding and quickly scanned Ian's chest. "Tube's in place," he said as he attached the bag-valve mask to the top of the mouthpiece. He squeezed the bag in his hand, forcing air into Ian's lungs. 

Zabel began CPR once more. He counted. "Onetwothreefourfivesixseven" Another squeeze on the bag. Young's chest inflated as the air was forced in, then fell as it escaped with each compression. "eightnineteneleventwelvethirteen"

After a minute, Cohn halted him again. "Checking rhythm," he said, eyes glued to the scanner. There was no change, and Zabel sighed in defeat.

"Should we stop?" he asked, not relishing more compressions on a man who was already dead.

"No!" the ensign shouted. "You keep going until I tell you to stop!"

"Yes, sir," Zabel mumbled, returning to the task as Cohn squeezed more air into Young's body. "Onetwothree" It went on.

Archer, Tucker, and Griffith moved around the armory, assessing the damage and trying to determine if there was any immediate danger. Tucker retrieved a functioning scanner from the equipment locker where it had had limited protection and scanned the gaping hole in the bulkhead. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" asked Archer, hurrying to his side.

"We're lucky we're still alive. This could've been a helluva lot worse."

The captain eyed the charred mess dubiously. "I'll take your word on that for now."

"Sirs," Griffith called from across the room. "I have the main console back online." The officers approached the crewman. "It overheated temporarily, but it's working again now. I'm reading a fault behind the damaged bulkhead—a power relay that's not properly installed."

"Could that have caused the explosion?" Archer wanted to know.

Tucker narrowed the parameters of the scan. "No. My guess is they were trying to replace the relay but couldn't get it in before the other system went critical. It'll take some time to find out for sure, though. I'll get a team on it." He looked at Griffith. "Can you handle getting that power relay sorted out? One less thing to worry about will make this a lot easier."

"Yes, sir." He moved off to collect tools and disappeared through the scarred access shaft.

"I'll get a team together," Tucker continued flatly. He was running on auto-pilot and he and Archer both knew it. He tried to open a comm from the main console, only to find communications from the site were still offline. He seemed momentarily stymied.

Archer noticed his blank confusion and spoke gently. "Trip."

"Cap'n?" Tucker turned a puzzled look on his old friend.

"Go to sickbay. I'll have Lieutenant Hess organize an engineering team."

"I can do it," protested the Chief Engineer.

"I know you can. But so can she, and there's someone else who's going to need you. Go."

Tucker nodded and turned to go. He stopped short at the sight of Cohn and Zabel still methodically performing CPR on Ensign Young.

Zabel knew their task was futile, but he continued to press on Young's chest for fifteen counts every two breaths. He glanced up at Cohn, wondering if he should voice his doubts again. The crewman held his tongue when he saw the glistening tears that streamed unchecked and unnoticed down the medical assistant's face.

Cohn continued to work with machine-like precision. "Stop," he said again, and as Zabel leaned back, Ari keyed the scanner. This time the machine beeped with an erratic tone. "V-fib! A shockable rhythm!" he yelled with joy. He turned to the crewman. "He has a shockable rhythm! Get off!" Zabel jumped away from Young as if he'd been shot. Ari moved back and pressed the button on the scanner. Young's body contracted, but there was no change in the scanner's beeping. "Shocking again," Cohn said, pressing the button a second time. Young's body contracted more violently, but the beeping remained unchanged. Cohn shocked him a third time, but Young's heart still didn't resume its normal beating.

Zabel cleared his throat. "I think he's dead," he said delicately.

Cohn ignored him. Instead he pressed a hypospray against Young's neck. "Shocking again," he repeated, pressing the scanner's button for a fourth time.

Young gasped. His eyes flew open and his hands began grasping and pulling at the tube as he gagged.

"Get me my bag!" order Cohn, grabbing at it before Zabel could move. The ensign pulled out another hypospray and once again injected Young. "Easy, buddy," he said as Young's struggling slowed and then ceased. His eyelids fluttered and he slumped back, unconscious. 

Zabel looked at Ari, then at Ian, eyes wide. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Ari said, squeezing another breath into Young and then wiping at his eyes with one sleeve. "I've knocked him out so he won't hyperventilate or pull at the tube," he explained. "But he's okay. He's really okay." He was beaming through his tears.

"Well, that's good," Zabel said awkwardly as med-techs D'Angelo and Northfield suddenly appeared at the door, an anti-grav stretcher between them.

*****

Ian woke and surveyed his surroundings in groggy confusion. The light was low, but he easily made out the shapes of medical equipment around him. _Sickbay,_ he thought muzzily. _What—?_ Then it all came flooding back to him. _The others!_ He looked around now with more focus, hoping to see if his C.O. and crewmates were also in sickbay recovering, but his biobed was enclosed by an opaque privacy curtain.

He started slightly as the curtain was pushed back enough for someone to enter.

Ari smiled at him. "My monitor said you were awake. How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, checking the screen above Ian's head.

Ian's voice was weak and raspy as he replied. "Like someone landed a shuttlepod on me." He tried to clear his throat, but found he sounded no better when he continued. "What happened after I passed out?"

"Your throat's bound to be sore for a day or two from the resuscitation tube and the smoke."

Ian nodded slightly in understanding, but remained focused on his query. "You didn't answer my question."

Ari wouldn't meet his gaze at first. The medical assistant was strangely reluctant to tell his friend the truth. _Don't be dumb,_ he scolded himself. "You didn't just pass out," he said at last.

Ian fixed him with a puzzled look. It was easier than trying to talk.

"When we got to you, you were suffering from nitrogen asphyxiation. You were in cardiac and respiratory arrest."

The information sank into Ian's mind, its full import only slowly dawning on him. "I was dead," he rasped.

Ari nodded. "But not for long," he said hastily, as if it would make a difference. "We resuscitated you right away."

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I put you through that."

"It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're okay." Ari remembered the terrible fear he'd felt when he'd first discovered Ian on the floor of the armory. He pushed the feeling resolutely aside. "You're going to be fine," he said to reassure himself as much as his friend.

Another thought struck Ian and he asked, "But how did you get to me? I sealed the doors—"

"T'Pol was able to normalize the atmosphere in the armory from the bridge. It was easy to get in after that."

A look of sudden discovery crossed Ian's face and was rapidly replaced by an expression of self-disgust. "It never even occurred to me."

"What didn't?"

"That the armory's atmosphere could be vented from outside." He sighed and then coughed as it irritated his sore throat. "I'm an idiot."

"No you're not," protested Ari.

"I am."

"You are," said a female voice, startling them both. Stephanie stood in the gap in the curtain, wearing standard issue sickbay pajamas. Her burned arm was bandaged and she held it gingerly away from her side as if she didn't want to accidentally bump it when she moved. She stepped beyond the curtain and stood by Ian's bed. "But so am I. I forgot the atmosphere could be vented from somewhere else, too. Hell, _two_ somewhere elses—the bridge or Main Engineering."

"Shit," said Ian. "You're right."

"You didn't have to stay behind at all."

"No."

"And you shouldn't have locked me out," Stephanie continued accusingly.

"Huh?" said Ian at the same moment Ari asked, "What?"

She ignored the medical assistant and focused on her fellow armory ensign. "You had no business locking me out. I could have helped you, even if we were both too stupid to get out before cycling out the oxygen."

"I couldn't let you come back in," protested Ian. "It was a dangerous and potentially deadly environment."

"So what? So you deliberately endanger your own life when, if there'd been two of us—"

"Hang on!" cut in Ari. "That's enough."

Stephanie looked at him, mildly surprised. "What?"

"I'm not going to have you badgering my patient!" _And my best friend!_ his mind added silently.

"I'm not badgering—"

Again he didn't let her finish. "You are by my definition." He drew back the curtain enough to look out into the rest of sickbay. "Liz," he called, catching the brunette's attention. "Would you please escort Ensign Cormack back to her own biobed?"

Liz approached and reached out a hand to her bunkmate. "Come on," she instructed her, taking her by the elbow. She didn't know what the problem was, but she assumed Ari had a good reason for his request.

Stephanie allowed herself to be guided away, but shot a glance back over her shoulder. "We're not done," she informed Ian.

"I know," he answered.

As Ari closed the curtain behind the women, he could hear Liz admonishing her friend. He turned back to Ian in time to catch him grimacing. Ari picked up a scanner from a nearby tray and ran it along Young's body. "Are you in pain?"

"How did you guess?" joked Ian humorlessly.

Suddenly Ari was all professionalism. "Are you having trouble breathing at all?"

"Some. My chest really feels like someone dumped a load of duratanium on it and left it there."

"You have some bruising from the CPR. It's completely normal. I'll give you an analgesic and dose of tri-ox compound to make it easier to breathe." He loaded a hypospray as he spoke and injected it into Ian's neck.

The effect was immediate. The armory ensign relaxed and inhaled deeply. "Thanks, buddy."

Ari smiled. "You're welcome."

There was a slight cough from the other side of the curtain. Ari approached it, ready to send Stephanie away should it be her again. He drew back the curtain and was surprised to see crewman Rostov standing there. "Michael. I thought Doctor Phlox released you."

"He did," the burly crewman replied. He had been repairing a shelf in one of the cargo bays when the accident in the armory had happened. He had foolishly forgone normal safety procedures in his repairs and as a result he'd been injured when vibrations from the explosion had knocked him and a heavy cargo container off the shelf. Like Martinez had in the blast, he'd suffered some broken ribs. He unconsciously rested a hand on his freshly healed side. "I'm on my way out, but I wanted to see if Ian was okay first."

"He'll be fine."

"Can I talk to him?"

Ari glanced questioningly over his shoulder at Ian, who gave him a small, tired nod of okay. "Yes," answered Ari, turning back to Rostov. "But don't stay too long. He needs to rest."

The crewman nodded. "Sure."

Ari left them alone, shutting the curtain around them.

"Hey," said Michael from where he stood.

"Hey," replied Ian. "What're you doing here?"

"I got clobbered by a cargo box while you guys were screwing with the plasma conduits. I figured I'd see if you're okay before going back to my quarters."

"Ari already told you I'm okay."

"So I wanted to see for myself." Michael approached to bed. "You look pretty good, considering what a dumbass thing you did."

"Christ," Ian swore softly. "Not you, too. I already got an earful from Cormack. I don't need another from you."

"Don't you? How stupid are you two anyway? You should have gotten the hell out of there and hailed engineering. They could've vented the whole atmosphere in seconds—without anyone getting hurt."

"Everyone was already hurt."

"Except you. I've heard what happened. You were fine until you asphyxiated yourself. Are you trying to tell me that was the best plan you could come up with?"

"That wasn't the original plan, you know," stated Ian angrily.

"The original plan was just as stupid. You could've been killed and it would've been for nothing."

"If it saved the rest of the crew and the ship, it wouldn't have been for nothing."

"It would when there was another, _safer_ option." Michael was red-faced with anger but kept his voice low so as not to alert anyone else to their argument.

"What the hell do you care?" demanded Ian, confined to quiet fury due to his damaged throat.

"I broke up with Ethan."

Shocked silence met Rostov's announcement. Ian wondered if he'd heard right or if the pain meds Ari had given him were causing him to hallucinate. "Huh?"

"I broke up with Ethan," repeated Michael quietly but clearly.

"What does that have to do with anything? And why should I give a flying fuck whether you broke up with him or not?" Despite his claims of disinterest, Ian's heart rate increased suddenly with the news. He willed himself to stay calm so neither Ari nor anyone else who might be watching the monitors would notice and come to check on him. He wasn't ready for this conversation to end quite yet and the last thing they needed was an untimely interruption.

"I broke up with him for you."

"You—?"

"Broke up with him for you," the dark-haired crewman finished for him more gently this time.

"Oh." Inexplicably, Ian felt himself relax. His pulse returned to normal and his head and shoulders sank back onto the biobed. He hadn't really realized how tense he'd grown. Maybe it was the medication Ari had given or maybe he was finally letting down his defenses on his own. Whatever the impetus, Ian reached out to Michael with one handonly to discover it was bandaged. He'd completely forgotten he'd burned it on the armory stairway's railing. Letting it drop back by his side, he reached awkwardly across his body with the opposite arm and took Michael's hand. He was about to say more when they were suddenly interrupted.

"Hey, Ian, I heard—" Hoshi's greeting died a quick death as she rounded the curtain and caught sight of the two men holding hands. Her sharp mind took in the scene in a moment and she knew she'd inadvertently caught them in a moment of unguarded tenderness. Her brown eyes flashed from Ian's face to Michael's and back again, not knowing where to rest.

Ian yanked his hand from Michael's as if he'd just been stung.

"I'm sorry," Hoshi said. "I didn't I didn't" She took a breath, hoping to keep her voice calm, and looked Ian in the eye. "I'll come back later."

"Hoshi, wait!" he tried to call after her, but whether she didn't hear or chose not to, he didn't know. Hoshi disappeared and the two men heard the door to sickbay suddenly open and close. "Shit." Ian looked up at Michael, all tenderness toward the crewman gone. "Get out of here."

"I'll see you later."

"The hell you will," countered Ian without conviction.

Michael made no comment, but his expression spoke volumes. He left, pulling the curtain shut and leaving Ian alone at last. The ginger-haired young man closed his eyes, desperately searching his mind for one thing that would keep this from being the worst day of his life. When he found it, it brought little comfort as it carried painful memories with it. _No one died today,_ he said to himself. _Not today._

In sickbay's main area, Ari looked over in surprise as Hoshi rushed out so soon after having arrived. His bemusement grew as Rostov followed her, although at a far more leisurely pace. _I wonder what's going on._ He shook his head, dismissing the mystery for the moment. He had other things to deal with just then.

He approached the biobed where Stephanie sat talking with Liz. He looked at Liz, pointedly ignoring the other woman. "Doctor Phlox has given Ensign Cormack clearance to leave," he said coolly, handing over a datapad. "She's to return here tomorrow at 0800 so her bandages can be removed."

"Hello," said Stephanie indignantly. "I'm right here."

"And you're free to go." He looked at her, an angry challenge clear in his brown eyes.

She backed down a bit in surprise. She'd never seen him angry and she got the feeling she didn't want to. "I'm sorry you think I was badgering Ian," she said, guessing rightly that he was still mad at her over the incident.

"I don't just _think_ it."

"Fine. _Think_ whatever you want. He was stupid to lock me out when I could have helped him, and when he comes to his senses, he'll tell you I'm right."

"I doubt that."

Stephanie sighed in defeat. "Whatever. I'm sorry if I upset him or you," she apologized sincerely. "I realize I should have waited to talk to him about it." She slid off the biobed and looked at her bunkmate. "See you in our cabin."

Liz nodded. "I'll be late, but I'll be there."

The blonde gave her a tired nod in return and left sickbay. When she was gone, Liz turned to Ari. "She really is sorry, you know."

He shrugged.

"She doesn't say it if it's not true," she persisted. "I think everything is just too fresh for all of us to be completely objective about what happened."

"I suppose so," conceded Ari, knowing she was right.

"Here." She picked up another datapad and handed it over to him. "Phlox has released Martinez, too. Why don't you give her the good news that she gets to sleep in her own bed tonight?"

He looked at the new pad. "She's cleared already?"

"Yes," confirmed Liz. "Her ribs are mended and there wasn't any internal organ damage, so she gets to go home."

"But the blood—?" He scanned the pad and let out a laugh of relief more than humor. "She bit her lip when she hit the torpedo? That's much better than the punctured lung we thought it was initially."

"It certainly is. You want to tell her?"

"Where's Phlox?"

"He's overseeing Lieutenant Reed's dermal regeneration treatment."

"Oh. Okay. You know, the doctor and I can finish up on our own if you want to go. You and I are both past our shifts anyway."

"It's okay. I'll help you clean up, and when Phlox says he doesn't need either of us, you and I can share a drink in the mess hall," Liz offered kindly. "I think we could both use a little detox time after today, don't you?"

Ari nodded, surprising himself. "That's a great idea." Then he paused and frowned. "Travis isn't going to get upset if we do that, is he?"

Liz smiled as she answered. "He knows you and I are friends, and he knows I love him. He'll be fine."

Ari smiled back. "All right."

*****

It was one of those rare occasions when Lieutenant Reed wished he had an office. Instead, he was forced to use his quarters in that capacity when he needed to speak privately with a subordinate. _And when the armory is out of commission,_ he thought bitterly. It was two days since the explosion that had injured him and three other members of his team. Young was still in sickbay. Reed had only been released that morning. He'd been to the armory to check on the repair team's progress, only to be ordered out by Tucker. The engineer insisted he was acting on Phlox's orders, but Reed suspected his lover didn't want him to exert himself any more than the doctor did. All Reed's protests had been useless. He'd returned in defeat to his cabin where he'd spent the day reviewing every update that came from Trip's crew.

He shifted stiffly in his chair. Newly healed skin and muscles protested the movement, but he ignored them. The scene that was about to come was undoubtedly going to be far more uncomfortable than anything his body could throw at him just then.

At the same moment he checked the time, the door chimed. "Come in," he called.

Ensign Cormack entered, stepping far enough into the cabin for the door to slip shut behind her. Her friendly greeting died on her lips. Something about Reed's posture told her this wasn't a social call he'd requested. She adopted a more formal stance. "You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?"

"Yes. I want to talk to you about the incident in the armory the other day."

"Yes, sir."

"I've read your report a number of times." He had the report onscreen and he glanced at it briefly, although he already knew exactly what it contained. "There's something in it that disturbs me."

Cormack was perplexed. She'd been very succinct and precise in her report; she couldn't think of anything disturbing beyond the horrible facts of the accident. "Sir?"

"You say you left Young behind in the armory when you dragged me out."

"Yes, sir." Her puzzlement increased.

Reed continued coolly. He hated doing this, but no hint of emotion played on his still, stoic visage. "You willfully left your fellow officer in a volatile environment."

"I What?" She frowned.

"You stated clearly in your report that you directed Martinez out, then dragged me from the armory. You made no attempt to remove Ensign Young."

"You think I—" Cormack was wide-eyed in amazement. She couldn't go on. She seethed internally, unable to believe she was hearing what she was hearing.

For his part, Reed couldn't believe one of his crew would deliberately leave another behind, but that was what the evidence showed. "You should have gotten Ensign Young out before me. Only then should you have come back for me, assuming conditions permitted it. Your actions were negligent and endangered the life of another officer."

Cormack was having trouble breathing. Her heart pounded at twice its normal rate. She managed to speak through the fierce clenching of her jaw. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"You have no idea what it was like in there," she said in a low, strained voice. "The smoke, the fire. I didn't know for sure that you weren't dead."

"All the more reason to leave me—" began Reed, but Cormack cut him off.

"Bullshit!" she spat. "I don't know how _you_ would have reacted under the circumstances and I hope to hell neither of us ever has to find out. But I'm willing to bet my commission you couldn't have left your C.O. behind to die." Her voice rose with every word until she was shouting, her face red with fury.

"No one needed to be left behind to die," snapped Reed. "I would have thought one of you would have been smart enough to remember that engineering could—"

Cormack interrupted him again, her anger making her reckless and belligerent. "I know I fucked up," she yelled. "Ian knows he fucked up, too, so you can skip telling him what an incompetent idiot he is too—assuming you were planning to," she added accusingly. "Or were you saving that special honor just for me?"

Reed rose, his expression stern. "Ensign—"

"How dare you?" Her voice was suddenly low and quiet, full of anger and betrayal. "How dare you accuse me—accuse either of us—of negligence? You have no idea!" She punched every word with all the rage that boiled up inside her. "_You don't know!_"

"Ensign! Stand down!"

Cormack bit back her next retort so sharply that Reed could hear her teeth snap together.

"Dismissed."

Without another sound, she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Reed sank into his chair. He looked down at his hands resting on the desk and was surprised to discover they were shaking slightly. He'd never before experienced a dispute like that with anyone under his command—and certainly never with a crewmate he thought of as a friend. He hoped never to have to again.

He looked up, staring for a moment at the closed door. A kernel of doubt niggled at him from the corner of his mind.

Had he been wrong?

_No,_ said the commanding officer in his mind. He'd read her report multiple times. Her own words condemned her actions. He turned to the computer screen and re-read yet again the section that had so shocked him.

_I saw that crewman Martinez was clear of the armory and went to Lieutenant Reed. He was injured and unconscious. I refrained from attempting to rouse him. I called to Ensign Young for assistance. He denied it, saying the environmental controls were offline and he intended to vent the armory's atmosphere._

I proceeded to drag Lieutenant Reed from the armory. Once clear, the door closed and locked behind us. I hailed Ensign Young, but was unable to reach him over the comm. I then proceeded to hail sickbay.

He stopped reading. There it was on the screen. She'd left Young behind and made only the most cursory attempt to contact him. She'd left him.

The words she'd spoken–_Shouted._–still rang in his ears. _"You don't know!" _That much was undeniably true. He found he had to agree with her wish that he never have to find out.

Reed rubbed his tired eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand. He needed to talk to someone, to get another perspective. His first thought was of Trip, but he immediately decided against disturbing him. The engineer was run ragged between supervising the repair teams and spending every other waking hour making sure Malcolm had everything he could possibly need and then some. That narrowed his options considerably.

_Captain Archer?_ he thought, dismissing the idea almost before the thought was complete. That left him with only one logical choice.

"Sub-commander T'Pol."

*****

When Stephanie left Reed's cabin she was so furious she didn't know what to do. She stood outside the door for several seconds, shaking with rage and shock. She needed something, someone who would be on her side. The time had gone Beta shift half an hour ago; Liz would be in sickbay. She glanced over her shoulder at Malcolm's door. That was no option.

"Mae," she muttered. She headed to the nearest turbolift and rode it to E-deck. Mae had always been there for her when the shit hit the fan. _And it sure as hell's hit it now._ Stephanie emerged onto the E-deck corridor and walked quickly towards Mae and Bonnie's cabin.

_I yelled at him,_ she thought, the whole import of her actions finally sinking in. _Fucking shit. I yelled at Malcolm—Lieutenant Reed._ Panic gripped her and her heart leapt to marathon pace again. _I yelled at Lieutenant Reed!_

She reached her destination and entered without warning. "I yelled at Lieutenant Reed!"

Bonnie's startled and sleepy face met her frantic declaration. "What?"

"I yelled at him. I...I'm not sure what I said. Gods! I hope I didn't cuss him out! I can't remember. I..." She looked around the room, suddenly noticing the absence of the person she sought. "Where's Mae?"

"Armory," Bonnie answered. She approached Stephanie cautiously, taking in her flushed cheeks and shaking hands. "She's running the Beta shift repair team. Why don't you sit down?" _Before you fall down,_ her mind added. She guided Stephanie to a seat on Mae's bunk; her own was still unmade as she had only just gotten out of it. "Do you want a glass of water?" Stephanie nodded and Bonnie hurried to the lav. She returned a moment later with a glass of cold water and handed it to the blonde. "Here."

Stephanie took it in both hands and drank it down. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Bonnie took the empty glass from her, asking, "Do you want more?"

"No thanks."

"Okay." She set it aside on the desk and sat on her bunk. "Can you tell me what happened now?"

Stephanie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her racing heart was finally slowing to normal and the shaking of her hands had almost ceased. "I'm in deep shit," she stated bluntly. "I'm gonna get busted down to steward and spend the rest of my career serving dog biscuits to Porthos."

Bonnie almost laughed, but realized in time that the other woman was deadly serious. "What did you do? Besides yell at Lieutenant Reed? I mean," she added before Stephanie could answer, "I know that's bad, but I can't believe that alone would get you busted to steward."

"You didn't hear it," replied the armory ensign morosely. "Gods! I wish I could remember if I cussed him out or not!"

"It really was that bad?"

"It really was _that bad_," confirmed Stephanie.

"So tell me what happened. Maybe then it won't seem _that bad_."

Stephanie gave Bonnie a hopeless look.

The helmsman shrugged. "It's worth a try. At least tell my why you yelled at him."

Stephanie's anger flared again at the memory. "He accused me of negligence."

"He _what_?!"

"He said I had 'willfully left my fellow officer in a volatile environment'." She gave a derisive snort. "There's an irony. I can remember what he said perfectly, but I have no clue how I answered him—other than loudly, that is."

"Why the hell would he say something like that?" demanded Bonnie, offended on her friend's behalf.

"I don't know! He read my report on the accident in engineering—several times even. He said so. He must know I did everything I could!"

A small light dawned on Bonnie's brain. At least now she had some context into which to place the fight Stephanie had had with her C.O. His actions still made no sense to her, though. "He's on drugs," she declared. "Or he's just stupid."

Stephanie didn't seem to hear her. She sat there, staring furiously at the far wall. "I did everything I could!" she repeated softly, more to herself that to her companion. Her breathing quickened as her heart rate rose again. "I got Juliana out. I got _Malcolm_ out. I tried to go back for Ian, but he locked me out. I _tried_!" Tears shone momentarily in her eyes, but were swiftly subsumed by her rage.

Bonnie watched in fearful fascination. She had seen Stephanie giddy, hurt, joyful, despairing, drunk beyond coherence, and sick the morning after. She thought she'd seen Stephanie angry, but she was wrong. Every other fit of temper had been a pale precursor to this too-calm wrath. It was enough to scare Bonnie's own indignation into rationality.

When she spoke, it was cautiously, afraid Stephanie might turn her anger on Bonnie as the nearest target. "You said he read your report, right?"

"Several times," the armory ensign answered through jaws so tight they didn't move.

"Then the answer has to be there somewhere. There's got to be something in it that the lieutenant misunderstood."

Stephanie turned on her. "What's to misunderstand? Facts? You've written incident reports. You know that's what you put in them—_facts_."

"I still think he must have misunderstood something."

"Facts!" repeated Stephanie bitterly. She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them for the helmsman, her voice rising in volume and pitch with each one. "Fact: secondary conduit Zed-alpha exploded." _Sweet Goddess, why does it always have to be explosions is my world!?_ "Fact: Juliana, Malcolm, and I were hurt. Fact: I got Juliana up and close enough to the door that she could get out on her own. Fact: Malcolm was unconscious and I wasn't about to try and wake him with the injuries he had so I dragged him out of the burning, smoke-filled armory, _saving his life_!"

She was on her feet now, practically screaming. Bonnie rose, too, trying to get a word in, trying to calm her down. But Stephanie ranted on unchecked, frenetically pacing the small patch of deckplating between the bunks.

"_Fact_: I tried to go back for Ian, but he _locked the fucking door and the god damned comm was down!_ I hailed sickbay. I hailed the bridge. _I did everything I could!_"

"I know you did!" Bonnie shouted back at her, finally grabbing Stephanie's attention. "So stop yelling at me!"

Her words brought the raging woman up short and Stephanie froze where she was in the dead center of the cabin. She held her breath for a moment and put both hands over her face, trying to calm down. Finally she let the breath out in an inarticulate exclamation of frustration. "Gagh!" She sat heavily on Bonnie's bunk and scrubbed her face with her hands. "I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven," answered the helmsman gently.

Stephanie looked up at her where she still stood at the foot of the bed. "You're not even dressed yet. Did you just get up?"

"Yeah. I hate working nights."

"I'm sure it doesn't help when I come in here and dump on you before you've even had a cup of tea or a shower. I'm sorry," Stephanie repeated.

"It's okay." Bonnie sat next to her and put a supportive arm around her. Stephanie leaned her head gratefully on Bonnie's shoulder. "I put in a request with Sub-commander T'Pol to be transferred back to Alpha shift," the helmsman said gently.

"Did she okay it?"

"Yeah. No questions asked, just like you said. I'm off duty tonight, and then I'm in Stellar Cartography first thing in the morning."

Stephanie managed a weak smile. "That's the first good news I've had today." Then a thought occurred to her. "You mean we actually both have tonight free?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I wish I was in a mood to take advantage of the fact."

"We'll have other nights," Bonnie reassured her. "You want to get something to eat with me now? I just need to wash up and get dressed."

"Mmm. Can we just sit here for a minute first?"

"Sure," agreed Bonnie. She pulled Stephanie into an embrace that the armory ensign readily returned. They sat that way for more than just a minute, but neither noticed the time passing, content simply to remain in one another's arms for the time being.

Eventually, Stephanie pulled away and Bonnie released her reluctantly. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

Stephanie shrugged. "I guess I'll find out the next time I hear from Lieutenant Reed, eh?"

There was nothing to say to that, so the helmsman replied with a non sequitur. "Give me a couple of minutes to make myself presentable and we'll go get some coffee. I bet you could use it."

"Gods yes," agreed Stephanie. She chose not to voice the thought that it would be especially nice if the coffee had a shot of whiskey in it. She didn't truly intend to add the liquor to the drink despite her incredibly strong desire to do so, and she didn't want to upset Bonnie any more than she already had by suggesting it even in jest. "Coffee would be most welcome."

"Then we'll get you some. And after that, we'll go over your report and see if we can figure out what Lieutenant Reed's been smoking." Bonnie stood and headed to the lav. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go, okay?" she said as she went.

"Okay." Stephanie watched until the door had shut behind the helmsman and then collapsed sideways on the bunk. She mumbled miserably into the rumpled covers, "I'm so screwed."

*****

Reed rang the chime to T'Pol's quarters and immediately heard her reply, "Come in."

He opened the door. She rose from the desk as he entered the cabin. "Sub-commander," he said stiffly.

"Lieutenant," she responded. "You said you wished to discuss a personnel matter with me."

"Yes." He wasn't entirely certain where to begin. This wasn't a situation he'd ever envisioned, so he had no set plan for how to proceed.

"Would you care to sit down?" offered the Vulcan, as discomfited by the situation as he.

"No, thank you. I prefer to stand." Reed suddenly remembered the datapad he'd brought with him and looked down at it in his hand. "I wondered if you'd read Ensign Cormack's report on the incident in the armory."

"I have."

"Ah. Good." He was relieved to hear this; he didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't. "What did you think of it?"

T'Pol looked at him in mild perplexity. "I found it succinct," she said.

"Hm. That's certainly an accurate description," he agreed dryly. "But was there anything in it that you foundinappropriate?"

Now the Vulcan came as close to frowning as she ever did. "Do you mean there is something in her report that you find unacceptable?" she asked, drawing the most logical conclusion she could from what little information she had.

"Yes." He hesitated, but T'Pol simply waited in stoic silence for him to continue. "It was here, in the section where she describes the evacuation of the armory." He keyed on the datapad, which he already had cued to the part in question, and offered it to her.

"I remember it," said T'Pol, not taking the pad.

"And it didn't bother you at all?" he asked, desperate for her to understand without him having to explain it.

"No. I found that, aside from the initial error in judgment made by Ensigns Cormack and Young, both officers behaved in a logical fashion."

"But Cormack left Young in a potentially deadly environment!" Reed blurted. "And she admits right here in her report that she made almost no effort to get him out."

The sub-commander raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall her saying anything of the sort and it would be inaccurate if she had."

Reed was beginning to think he'd made a huge mistake in trying to talk to T'Pol about this matter. He thought she of all people would understand the problem he was having. "It's right here." He thrust the datapad at her and this time she took it.

She scanned the section on the screen. Her expression was unchanged when she looked up and returned the pad to him. "I fail to see what you're suggesting. When Ensign Cormack was unable to reach Ensign Young within the armory, she immediately hailed sickbay. While it would have been more logical to hail the bridge or engineering first, I understand the human instinct to assist the injured crewmembers first. As her next hail was to the bridge, I believe her actions were reasonable. Perhaps if you discussed your concerns with Ensign Cormack, she could put your mind at ease on the matter."

Reed frowned. "I had considered that," he said, not caring to admit he'd considered it _after _having had the interview that had gone so poorly. He was slowly realizing that he'd acted rashly in dressing down Cormack for her actions during the emergency. He had never asked her to explain what she'd written in her report; he'd simply leapt to the least favorable conclusion and confronted her with it. _I should have come here first,_ he thought in perfect hindsight. _I should have taken the time to talk to Stephanie as her friend before attacking her as her commanding officer._ He sighed in self-disgust. _Bloody hell._

"Lieutenant?"

"Sub-commander," he replied, pulling himself from his unpleasant musings.

"Was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"No. Thank you. You've been very helpful. Excuse me." He nodded a polite, if rushed, farewell and escaped to the corridor. _I need to find Stephanie._

*****

Bonnie looked covertly at Stephanie across the mess hall table, and frowned. The blonde woman sipped morosely at her second latté. Her eyes were red-rimmed and shiny, although so far she hadn't shed any tears. Bonnie was determined not to let it come to that. _We're going to figure out how this happened,_ she thought determinedly, _and then I'm going to rip Lieutenant Reed a new one for being such a prick._

Aloud, the helmsman asked, "Better now?"

Stephanie set her cup on the table and wrapped her fingers around it. She nodded. "Some, yeah. Thanks."

"You think you're ready to take a look at your report?" She had taken the time to download Stephanie's incident report before coming to the mess hall.

"I suppose," the armory ensign sighed unenthusiastically.

"Okay." Bonnie pushed away the remains of her breakfast, retaining only her mug of tea. The datapad that had sat untouched throughout the meal now became the center of the women's attention. Bonnie keyed on the pad, but before she could do anything more than that, Lieutenant Reed entered the room and approached them.

"Ensigns," he greeted them formally.

Cormack sat up very straight. She hoped she looked better than she felt or Reed was going to know instantly how upset she was, and she didn't want that. "Sir," she said.

Fraser's eyes narrowed, but she refrained from saying anything beyond a very chilly, "Lieutenant."

Reed's main focus was Cormack, but he spared a moment to look at the helmsman. The tone of her voice was unmistakably unwelcoming and her expression was one small step short of openly hostile. He knew she was protective of Stephanie, but he'd never expected to have that protective streak turned against him. He found it decidedly unpleasant.

He returned his gaze to Cormack. "May I have a word with you? Privately?"

Fraser almost protested, but a tiny shake of Cormack's head silenced her. The armory ensign rose. "Yes, sir." Without another word, she followed her C.O. from the room. Fraser stared daggers at the man's back until the mess hall doors closed behind them.

The pair strode wordlessly along the E-deck corridors. Cormack was surprised when Reed passed the first turbolift and kept going. She'd assumed he would lead her to the captain's office. Instead they continued walking in strained silence toward the stern of the ship.

Cormack was ready to explode with nervous tension when they finally stopped. Reed opened the door to the aft observation lounge and gestured for her to precede him inside. She did. The lights came on automatically as sensors identified movement in the room. Not knowing what else to do, she stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face her C.O. She stood at attention, waiting for the axe to fall.

"At ease, Ensign," Reed said. Cormack snapped to the at-ease posture and Reed sighed wearily. "I mean, relax, Stephanie."

Unwilling to be baited when she had no control over whatever was to come, she said brusquely, "No thank you, sir."

"Please don't make me order you to relax. It never works when the Captain does it to me."

His comment took her completely off guard and she gaped at him, uncertain how to respond.

"Well, that's a mild improvement at any rate," quipped Reed humorlessly. "Why don't we sit down?" He inclined his head toward the soft, inviting chairs that littered the room in small, conversational arrangements.

"I Uhh Huh." Utterly at a loss, Cormack sought the nearest chair and sat in it. The lieutenant sat opposite her. Only then did she see the datapad in his hand. She tensed once again, but remained seated.

"I thought perhaps we could talk about your report. I mean actually _talk_ about it, rather than snapping and swearing at one another."

Cormack blanched. _Shit! I _did_ cuss him out!_ her mind exclaimed. "I apologize for my earlier behavior, sir," she said as evenly as she could manage.

"It wasunexpected, but not entirely uncalled for," Reed acknowledged. Caught by surprise yet again, Cormack said nothing. The lieutenant continued uncomfortably. "I realized after our last meeting that I may have jumped to inaccurate conclusions regarding your actions during the emergency."

It was an obviously difficult admission for him. Cormack didn't know if his trouble with it stemmed from having to admit he'd been wrong, or the awkwardness of apologizing to a lower-ranking officer, or from something else entirely. She remained silent, waiting to see what he would do or say next.

"Why don't you tell me about what happened?" he asked her kindly.

"It's in my report," she answered emotionlessly.

"The facts are in your report. I want to hear what really happened."

There was silence as Cormack processed what he said. She had been prepared for another dressing down. She'd even been prepared to some extent to be hauled up before the captain in order to be officially stripped of her rank and position. She hadn't been at all prepared for Malcolm's sympathetic and gentle inquiry.

She couldn't meet his eyes. Her hand twitched involuntarily, itching for a way to release some of her tension, but she fought the unruly appendage back down. "I" She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "I don't know where to start."

Reed frowned, but not at her words. When she'd twitched, he'd noticed the ruddy color of her right hand. It wasn't the red flush of blood heating it from inside, but the bight pink of newly healed skin—something he was too familiar with lately. "What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"Huh?" She looked at it and shrugged. It was as good a place as any for her to start her story. "It got burned. Third degree, Liz said. All the way up to the elbow."

The lieutenant's frown deepened and his gut clenched. He'd heard nothing about this and, worse yet, he'd neither asked nor noticed anything when he'd seen her earlier. "You didn't put that in your report. Why don't you start there? Tell me what happened."

"I figured you'd have heard it from Phlox." She was reluctant to talk about it. The pain was still too fresh in her memory for her to be comfortable with it. "Or from Young or Martinez."

"No." He shook his head.

She shrugged again. "Nothing to tell, really. I got burned the same time you and Martinez were hurt—in the explosion." Stephanie swallowed hard, angrily fighting back a sob. "It's always explosions in my world," she muttered bitterly. 

"I don't" The knot in Reed's gut twisted tighter. He was caught between anger at her for not telling him she'd been hurt and anger at himself for not asking. Then a new thought struck him. "Are you saying you were hurt that badly and you still managed to pull me out of there on your own?"

"Yeah. Somebody had to, eh? Martinez's ribs were busted, so she couldn't. Young was trying to put out the fire, so he couldn't. Hell was going to freeze over twice before I was going to leave you there, so" She shrugged yet again. It seemed perfectly plain to her. She had done what she had to do and that was all there was to it.

Reed was speechless for several seconds. He was beginning to understand just how truly off-base his accusations had been, and that appalled him. The knot in his stomach doubled. He looked at Cormack, who studiously avoided his gaze. "I had no idea," he said softly.

"Now you do," she replied flatly.

Reed knew he had to proceed carefully. This revelation was enough to convince him he'd been wrong, but it still didn't satisfy his need to know exactly what had happened after he'd been knocked unconscious. "But what about the rest of it?" he persisted cautiously. "I want to hear exactly what happened after the explosion."

Again the tears welled up in Stephanie's eyes and she fought them back. _I will not cry. I will not cry,_ she thought over and over. "Explosions," she muttered. She finally looked him in the eye. "Why the hell did I go into armaments for a career?" she asked as if he might actually have an answer. "I've had enough explosions to last me a lifetime and then some."

Malcolm frowned again, perplexed. "I don't understand."

"When people I care about get hurt, it's always explosions."

Comprehension dawning, he said, "You mean when your sister was hurt."

Stephanie nodded. "And when my father was killed."

This was a shock to the lieutenant. He thought for a moment before a vague memory surfaced. Lawless had said something to this effect when Stephanie had had her breakdown that past September, but in the urgency of the time he'd barely even registered the information. "I'm sorry. I'd forgotten."

Stephanie was surprised. "How did you even know? That's not in my personnel records."

"No, it isn't." Hoping he wasn't getting anyone into trouble, he explained. "Mae mentioned it when you" He trailed off, not wanting to dredge up still more unpleasant memories for his friend.

"When I fell off the wagon?" she completed for him. "It's okay to talk about it."

"But that's not what we're talking about," Malcolm reminded her, pulling the conversation back on track. He was determined to get the full story out of her if it took all evening. There was something inside him that demanded to hear it; he couldn't let it go.

Understanding that Reed wasn't going to let the matter drop, and feeling somehow that he was right not to, Stephanie took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. She looked down at her hands resting rigidly in her lap, fighting the urge to fidget.

"I tried to get Ian out. You've got to believe that," she said softly, a note of desperation in her voice. "There wasn't anything I could do. It was chaos. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. My arm hurt" An involuntary shudder shook her, the horror of the memory too recent not to affect her. Her healing limb throbbed unexpectedly, a phantom of the pain she'd experienced just two days before. She rubbed at it with her other hand. "It was awful," she continued with difficulty. "I've thought about it a lot, you know. Especially sincethis afternoon." She glanced warily at her C.O., but he just nodded at her to go on. "I kept trying to think of anything more I could have done, and I can't. I tried to go back in, but Ian had already closed and locked the doors. I tried to get in, but I couldn't. I hailed him, but there was no answer. So I hailed the bridge, after I called sickbay, to get help to get him out."

She paused. She was about to take a risk, but after the day she'd had she figured she didn't have much to lose. Steeling herself, Stephanie looked Malcolm in the eye and asked, "How could you even suspect I didn't even try? What have I ever done that would make you think that badly of me?"

Malcolm was silent for several seconds before answering her. He could barely think through the churning in his gut. He couldn't believe how wrong he'd been. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing."

"Then _why_?" The tension in Stephanie's voice burned as hotly as the plasma fire had two days ago.

"I've thought about it a lot myself." He stared out at the streaks of light skimming past the large windows. They were dimmed by the light in the room but still stood out against the deep blackness of space. "I think I wanted to believe you could have done more." He paused and quickly corrected himself. "I wanted to believe more could have been done. You were right when you said I had no idea what it was like. I don't know what I would have done in your position. I'm lucky I've never yet had to make the sort of choice you had to make, and I hope I never do."

Stephanie stiffly nodded her agreement. "I hope you don't, too. It sucked. You know, looking back I can see that I panicked. I thought at the time that I was being all rational and cool under pressure, but I panicked. If I hadn't, Ian never would have had the chance to lock himself in."

"You had no control over his actions. You were injured and undoubtedly in shock. You can't torture yourself over 20/20 hindsight," said Malcolm, listing off all the points he realized he should have considered the first time. His own recent experiences had forcibly reminded him of that universal truth. Speaking as much to himself as to her, he added, "You have to chalk it up to experience and not make the same mistake next time."

"Gods forbid there'll ever be a next time!" declared Stephanie fervently.

"Agreed." He smiled a little at the ensign and was rewarded with a small, tentative smile from her in return.

"So," she asked cautiously, "I heard Ian was released from sickbay this morning. Have you talked to him yet?"

"No, although I intend to first thing tomorrow."

Stephanie didn't inquire further. She took it on faith that Malcolm would handle that interview better now that he and she had worked out their misunderstandings. She had mixed feelings about it, though. Part of her wanted not to be the only one to have had to go through the trauma of being falsely accused by her C.O. The more rational and kinder part of her was glad Ian would be spared that ordeal.

Sensing some continuing inner turmoil in her, Malcolm said, "I'm sorry I leapt to conclusions about you."

"You should never leap to conclusions because you'll have to swim back."

"I beg your pardon?" Malcolm replied, baffled.

"Sorry." Stephanie chuckled, although there was little amusement in it . "It's from a book I read as a kid. _The Phantom Tollbooth_. It had some entertainingly literal takes on phrases we take for granted. That one has always been one of my favorites."

The lieutenant smirked lightly. Trying to regain the lost feeling of camaraderie they used to share, he teased her gently. "I'm suddenly beginning to understand you a bit better."

"Yeah. Poor Doctor Douglas really has his work cut out for him with me, eh?" she joked back, but there was a veil behind her words and her small smile.

"I certainly don't envy him his job, despite everything that's happened in my department this week."

Stephanie chuckled and Malcolm joined her. Neither was truly comfortable, but both felt relief that the current misunderstanding now seemed to have passed.

The ensign sighed as the tension of the day lessened in their shared amusement. "If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant?" she asked. He nodded and she stood. "I think a little celebration is in order tonight, and I need to make some plans."

"Of course. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. You, too."

"And tell Ensign Fraser she needn't continue plotting violent and painful vengeance."

Stephanie stopped, bewildered. "Excuse me?"

"I'm jumping to conclusions again," Malcolm admitted wryly, "but judging from the look on her face when I came to get you, I don't think I'll be swimming anywhere."

For a moment, a close, shuttered expression rendered Stephanie's usually mobile features into an unfamiliar mask before she carefully cracked a smile. "Yeah. You're probably right. I'll make sure she knows."

"Thank you."

*****

Hoshi stood outside the door of Ian's cabin. She didn't want to be there, but she refused to continue in ignorance and confusion when she could do something about it. Everything in her life depended on communication, and her relationship with him was a significant part of her life.

She reached out and resolutely rang the chime. There was only a moment's pause before the door was opened by Ensign Cohn. It wasn't what Hoshi had hoped for—she'd hoped to find Ian home alone—but she had her contingency plan in place.

"Is Ian in?" she asked the medical assistant. She watched Cohn glance over his shoulder into the dimly lit cabin. He turned back to her.

"He's asleep," he said quietly.

This was something the comm officer hadn't counted on. "But it's only 2100 hours."

Ari gestured for her to step back so he could join her in the corridor. She did and he followed, letting the door shut behind him. "Ian's still pretty wiped out. He only got out of sickbay this morning."

"Oh. Of course. When he wakes up, would you let him know I stopped by?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." Hoshi smiled politely and walked away.

Ari waited until she was out of sight around a corner before reentering his cabin. Ian sat waiting for him in the semi-darkness, fully awake.

"Is she gone?" the armory ensign asked.

Ari nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder on the door frame. "Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"No."

"Try another answer."

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

"Trust _me_," countered Ari. He pushed away from the wall and pulled out the desk chair. He turned it backwards and sat astride it. "What's going on? Did you two have a fight?"

"Not today."

"I don't understand."

"I just don't want to deal withwhat I'll have to deal with the next time I talk to her. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

Ian's broad shoulders slumped. He could see his friend wasn't going to let this one go easily. "I really think you don't want to know."

"Then you think wrong. Talk to me. If you don't, I'm going to pester you with every miserable detail of _Plan 9 from Outer Space_. That is not something you want to have happen."

"All right, all right." The armory ensign took a deep breath and let it out in a resigned sigh. "Hoshi's not the only person I've beenseeing."

Ari's eyes widened. "You're kidding! After everything you went though to date her, you're seeing someone else at the same time? She doesn't know anything about it either, does she?" Ari accused.

"She didn't. She doesn't really know anything for sure. Hell, _I_ don't know anything for sure." Ian lay back on his bunk and stared grimly at the ceiling.

"I'm confused."

"You're not the only one."

"Who else have you been dating?"

"Not 'dating'," Ian corrected. "I wouldn't call it 'dating'."

"Well what would you call it and with whom?" persisted his bunkmate in growing frustration.

"If you bother to think about it, you'll figure out 'whom'." He turned his head to look at Ari, watched him frown as he considered what Ian had said. He waited, wondering if Ari still remembered the night of Mae's birthday party and where Ian had spent that night. When he saw his bunkmate's eyes widen to the size of saucers, he knew Ari had figured it out.

"_Rostov_?!" Ari blurted, knowing in his heart he was right. "You've been screwing Rostov while you've been dating Hoshi?!"

Ian sat up quickly and faced him. "No! It was just that one time after Mae's party, and that was way before Hoshi and I got together," he said, conveniently ignoring the fact that he and Hoshi had had their first date less than two weeks after his encounter with Rostov. "But Michaelwon't let it go." He looked away then, unable to meet Ari's gaze as he made his next admission. "And I think I don't want him to let it go."

Ari was stunned into silence as his mind worked to assimilate all the new information. When his thoughts coalesced into words, they came in random spurts of semi-coherence. "You don't even like Rostov! Besides, he's been dating Novakovitch. And he's not an officer! If one of the command staff finds out—"

"Ari, shut up!" Ian glared at his best friend. "You're not telling me anything I don't know, but I can fill _you_ in on something." Ari stared at him blankly, waiting. "Rostov broke up with Novakovitch the day of the explosion."

"What? Why?"

"He said he did it for me."

"But you don't even like him!" repeated Ari. "He knows you don't like him!" he added ardently.

"Shut _up_! I know that."

"How can he break up with someone for a guy who he knows doesn't even like him?"

"Ask _him_!"

"And what do you mean you don't want him to let it go?" continued Ari without pause. "I thought you were head-over-heels for Hoshi, and now you're hot for Michael?"

"No! Maybe. It's not that simple," protested Ian.

"Why the hell didn't you talk to me about all this earlier? You know you can trust me!"

"I don't tell you everything."

"Yes, you do."

"How would you know?"

This caused Ari to stall momentarily. "I Okay I wouldn't, but that doesn't change the fact that you slept with a crewman—which is totally against regulations and bad enough on its own, but now you think you want _more_. You're skating on incredibly thin ice, buddy. You can't—"

"_This_ is why I didn't talk to you," Ian snapped, cutting him off.

An angry silence fell over the two men. The atmosphere in the cabin practically crackled with the energy of their dispute. As they glared at each other warily, it slowly dissipated, leaving both of them feeling flat and empty.

"It was his idea," Ian muttered. He knew it was no defense, but he felt the need to say it nonetheless.

"That's hardly the point," Ari began, then let it go. "I'd guessed that, anyway, back when it happened."

Another, less tense, silence filled the room. Eventually, it was broken by Ari.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I have no fucking idea."

*****

Reed ordered his usual tea from the drinks dispenser. He didn't generally like to have caffeine so soon before turning in, but Trip had left a message that he would join him tonight if Malcolm was willing. _Willing, able, and too ready,_ Malcolm thought hungrily.

T'Pol entered the mess hall as he claimed his filled mug. "Good evening, Sub-commander," he said pleasantly.

"Good evening," she replied. She passed him and picked up an empty mug. He moved aside so she could place it under the drinks dispenser. "Chamomile tea, hot." Reed was about to leave when she stopped him with a question. "Did you have any success with the personnel matter we discussed this afternoon?"

"Yes, thank you. Your input was very helpful."

"You're welcome."

"Well, good night then." He didn't want to appear rude, but he was eager to return to his quarters.

"Good night."

Malcolm departed as quickly as decorum allowed. Once he was in his cabin, he set his tea on the nightstand and undressed. Still a bit sore from his injuries, it took him longer than usual to change into pajamas and deal with his discarded uniform.

Once he was ready for bed, he turned down the covers on the bunk and plumped up the pillows. He made himself comfortable against the bulkhead and picked up a datapad from where it sat next to his tea. He turned it on, found his place, and reclaimed his drink. He sipped at the tea, enjoying its warmth and flavor. It was one of the very few things he considered comfort food—hot Assam tea with just the tiniest splash of milk. Setting the mug aside, he turned his attention to his book. He didn't know precisely what time Trip would be there, but he figured the combination of caffeine and a novel by Paul Scott would keep him awake until the engineer's arrival.

Three hours later he woke up. His datapad rested on his chest where it had fallen from his grasp. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the too-bright light of his reading lamp, wondering how he could have fallen asleep with it on. _Hang on,_ he thought drowsily and with growing confusion, _I left the main lights on._ He sat up and looked around, the pad slipping to one side. "Trip," he said, spotting the engineer in the shadows just beyond the ring of light. "How long have you been here?"

The blond man shrugged. He didn't move from where he sat in the desk chair, which he'd pulled up beside the bunk. "Maybe half an hour," he offered. "I wasn't keeping track of time."

"What were you doing, then?" asked Malcolm. He pushed himself into a more upright position and picked up the datapad, marking the page and setting it aside.

"Watching you sleep," admitted his lover sheepishly. The flush of his cheeks was visible even in the dim light at the edge of the reading lamp's glow.

"You should have woken me."

"You looked so peaceful, I couldn't. And I knew you must be tired or you'd've woken up when I came in." That, even more than the dark circles under Malcolm's eyes, had led Trip to his decision to just sit a while, watch his lover, and be grateful that Malcolm was still with him. They might not be living together yet, but Malcolm was still _living_, and for now, that was more than enough for Trip.

"I can't argue with that." Malcolm was a light sleeper—particularly compared to Trip. It was a rare night when he didn't wake up at least once because of some tiny sound or motion that the younger man never noticed. Then Malcolm frowned as a fleeting memory touched his thoughts and vanished. "I wasn't peaceful, though," he realized. "I was dreaming about something" Vague images fluttered through his mind, but he was unable to hang onto them.

"What was it?"

"I don't remember."

"Well," said Trip with a tilt of his head, "then it must not have been about me."

Malcolm chuckled. "In that case, you definitely should have woken me. Then you could have joined me that much sooner."

Trip grinned. "I can't argue with that," he echoed. "Think you can stay awake for ten minutes until I'm ready to join you?"

"I think I can find the incentive somewhere," Malcolm smirked back, eyeing the younger man with obvious desire and eagerness.

Trip's grin grew lascivious. "Make it five minutes."

*****

The light was dimmed to a romantic level. Soft music played. Next to the computer monitor stood two glasses and a bottle of dealcoholized red wine. The bunk had been neatly made and then the covers turned down in an inviting but unassuming fashion. Stephanie took one more look around the cabin, her eyes resting on the wine. _Gods, I wish I could remember what she was drinking at Mae's birthday party,_ she thought in trepidation. She'd chosen the Merlot because it needed no refrigeration and would only taste better as it sat open all evening.

The door chimed then and Stephanie smoothed down the front of her long black skirt before answering it. She opened the door and smiled. "Hello."

"Hey," answered Bonnie. She smiled back at the shorter woman, noticing the skirt and top Stephanie wore. She reached out a hand and ran it along one burgundy velvet sleeve. "Mmm. Soft."

"C'mon in." Stephanie ushered her inside and locked the door behind her.

Bonnie's eyes scanned the room, taking in the ambience, the wine, the bed. Her smile grew. She turned around to face Stephanie again and looked her up and down. "I feel underdressed," she commented, glancing down at her own attire.

Stephanie eyed her critically, from her earth-toned blouse, to her fitted slacks, to her leather mules. "More _over_dressed than _under_, if you ask me." Her eyebrows did a quick, suggestive wiggle. "Wine?" she offered sweetly.

"Are you going to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" Bonnie kept her tone light and teasing, although the sight of the wine bottle had caused her a moment of concern.

"I know I don't need to get you drunk to do everything I want with you, so no. You get to drink the same thing I'm drinking." Stephanie crossed the short distance to the desk and poured out two glasses of dark red liquid. She picked them up and handed one to the helmsman. "To Alpha shift," she toasted.

"To Alpha shift," echoed Bonnie. They clinked the glasses together gently and sipped the wine. Bonnie sighed appreciatively. "That's good. Who knew alcohol-free wine could be this tasty?"

"Me." Stephanie smiled. "Have a seat?"

Bonnie sat on the blonde woman's bunk, noticing but not commenting on its ready appearance. She smiled a little in anticipation, then the smile faded. She took another sip of wine. "So," she began. She hated to spoil the mood of the evening, but there were a few things she needed to know before she could really enjoy herself.

"So?" asked Stephanie when Bonnie didn't immediately go on.

"Your message said you'd worked things out with Lieutenant Reed."

"That's right."

Bonnie was doubtful. "Really? You really worked out _everything_? The fact that he called you irresponsible even though you saved his life? The fact that he didn't have a single clue as to what you were facing, and yet he just assumed you'd fucked up?"

"I did fuck up."

"_One thing_," insisted Bonnie. "And you weren't alone in that. You saved his ass, and Martinez's, and he still treated you like shit."

"Stop it." Stephanie frowned angrily. "I don't want to talk about now."

"But—"

"No. Drop it. Can't you just accept that everything's okay and let it go? Please?" The blonde woman's tone was a mix of commanding and pleading. It didn't matter that a part of her knew Bonnie was right; a betrayal as great as the one she'd experienced wasn't really resolved in a single day. But she didn't want to think about that any more. She only wanted to spend a long, delicious night making love to Bonnie, devouring her with all of her senses.

Reluctantly, Bonnie nodded. She wanted this night as badly as Stephanie and so was willing to delay their discussion for a short while. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to talk about what had really happened between her and Reed. "Okay. I'll drop it—for now."

"That's all I'm asking." Stephanie's smile slowly returned. She set her glass on the desk and sat down beside the auburn-haired woman. Next, she carefully reclaimed Bonnie's drink and set it back down, too.

"I was enjoying that," protested the helmsman half-heartedly.

"You'll enjoy this, too." Stephanie leaned in and kissed her—a long, hot kiss that stole Bonnie's breath away.

"Mmmmm," moaned Bonnie happily as the blonde woman finally released her. "Nice."

Stephanie smirked smugly. "Told you you'd enjoy it. And I have many more plans for tonight." She ran her fingers along Bonnie's ear, tucking back an errant strand of curly auburn hair. Bonnie leaned into the touch and closed her eyes, smiling. "And we don't have to worry about any interruptions," continued Stephanie softly. As she spoke, her fingers trailed down the neckline of Bonnie's blouse and found the buttons. With deliberate precision, she undid each one in turn. "Liz is staying with Travis tonight and I've put a Do Not Disturb order on our comms. So, barring an emergency, we have the night all to ourselves. How does that sound to you?" The last button was released and she slipped her hands up along Bonnie's belly to her breasts, cupping them and gently teasing her nipples to hardness through the cream-colored lace of her bra.

Bonnie gasped in pleasure at the sensation and opened her eyes. Green eyes met hazel and both women grinned rapaciously. "That soundsperfect."

*****  
End Log 2:20  
_Completed 22 September 03  
Revised 2 October 03  
Continued in Log 2:21_


	21. Log 2:21

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:21**: (Takes place immediately preceding, during, and immediately following _The Crossing_.)  
_Rating: [PG-13 - language]_  
**Author's Notes**: Ensign Ari Cohn and crewman Virinder Singh belong to Squeaky Lightfoot and are used with her kind permission.  
I borrowed a wee bit of dialog from the episode once again. My thanks to the original authors of those words.

*****

"Shift change," called Cormack as she descended the armory stairs. "What've you got?"

Griffith promptly handed over a datapad. "Everything's running smoothly at the moment," he informed her. "It was a quiet night."

"Groovy." She glanced at the data. "We like quiet nights."

"Yes, ma'am," he wholeheartedly agreed.

"You're relieved," she said, smiling up at the tall crewman.

"Thank you, ma'am." He departed, leaving her alone.

Cormack was in for a dull shift. Starfleet regulations dictated that the ship's armory be constantly manned, but with no alerts and no enemies in sight there wasn't enough to do to warrant assigning even two crewmembers. For once, though, she didn't mind being on her own. Admittedly the day went more quickly when there was lots to do or someone to pass the time with, but quiet suited her just fine today. She could take some target practice while running the usual routine scans and diagnostics.

She yawned, wishing she'd grabbed a second latté before coming on duty. She'd had three very late nights already that week, and it was only Thursday. Cormack grinned to herself. _At least two of those three late nights were entirely recreational,_ she thought happily. Then she yawned again. "Damn," she muttered, once it had passed. _Good thing Liz is staying in tonight. I can't have company when my bunkmate's home and I really need to get some sleep._ The thought left her with mixed feelings. She frowned, almost pouting.

_Get over it, chickie,_ she told herself firmly. _Sex is great, but sleep is important, too. And right now you need the latter more than the former._ "And I need some target practice even more," she added aloud.

She quickly set a series of diagnostic programs running on the phase cannons' systems. Then she turned her attention to target practice. She was just setting up a phase pistol and a plasma rifle with blank charges when the upper armory door opened. She glanced up, surprised to see it was Ensign Young. "Hey," she called up to him. "What's up?"

The red-haired man shrugged and leaned against the railing, looking down at her. "Nothing."

"You're off duty this morning, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then why aren't you sleeping in or something? I sure as hell would be." She finished prepping her weapons and then picked out a holographic target emitter.

He shrugged again, although Cormack wasn't looking at him. "What are you doing?"

"Target practice," she replied as she set the emitter for a simple timing sequence. She glanced up at Young once more. "There's squat to do here this morning, so I figured I'd make practical use of the time. You want in?"

"Sure," said Young half-heartedly. He quickly descended the stairs and got another phase pistol from the weapons locker.

"Here." Cormack tossed him a blank cartridge and he promptly swapped it with the live one. 

"Thanks."

Cormack took a moment to watch Young from the corner of her eye. She could tell something was eating at him. She wondered if she should ask about it or if she should leave him be. _He's got to want to talk to someone, right?_ she postulated._ Otherwise, why come here when he could be alone somewhere else?_ There was no other good reason for him to seek out company—not when she knew full well that he was as opposed to early mornings as she was.

_All in good time,_ her mind told her. _If he really wants to talk, he'll talk. I can't force it out of him. Well,_ she thought slyly, _I _could_ force it out of him, but I'm sure that would break a fair number of Starfleet regs._

She let that train of thought go and keyed on the emitter. The holographic target appeared and hovered a few meters in front of them. "Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah."

The two ensigns trained their weapons and Cormack activated the sequence she'd preprogrammed. The target immediately darted about the armory, bobbing and weaving among the various obstacles the room provided. They began firing. A different colored light from the target indicated each weapon's hits. After one minute, the target ceased its movements and once again hovered before them.

Cormack picked up the emitter and checked the results. "Not bad," she commented.

"Yeah?" asked Young, coming up beside her and looking over her shoulder.

"Me. Not you." She handed him the device so he could see for himself. "You suck."

"Huh," he grunted noncommittally. "Must be tired. Let's go again."

"Whenever you're ready."

This time Young activated the target sequence. When the minute was up, he was the first to check the tally. He snorted in disgust and tossed the emitter on the table.

"What?" Cormack retrieved it and looked at the count. "Ouch." She glanced up at him. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, only half in jest.

"I'm just tired," he answered defensively.

"Hey, that's cool. I get that. I'm pretty wiped this morning, too."

"Yeah. I can tell that by your crappy score," he said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

Cormack fought the urge to make a cutting remark back. "It's the caffeine," she joked instead. "I always shoot better hopped up on java."

"Whatever."

"You want to go another round? I'll let you use my plasma rifle," she offered playfully, trying to get her fellow armory ensign to lighten up.

He shook his head. "No thanks. I should go. Leave you alone." But rather than leave, he leaned against the table and stared at his phase pistol, turning it over and over in his hands.

"Hey, you can hang out here if you want. I don't mind the company."

"Nah. I'll be in your way. I'll go." But he still didn't move.

_I feel like I'm in "Waiting for Godot",_ thought Cormack. In her most absurdly sincere voice, she said, "Oh yes, you should go. I'm so very busy here that interruptions could cause the ship to be put at serious risk."

"You shouldn't joke like that. What if Lieutenant Reed came in right now?"

"If he came in right now," echoed Cormack, "I'd hand him Griffith's report from Gamma shift and call up the progress report of the internal diagnostics that are running as we speak. Then, if he asked, I'd tell him you and I were taking some target practice to keep sharp."

"And if he heard you making jokes about ship's security?" Young persisted.

"He'd probably tell me it was inappropriate. He'd be right, but I don't think he'd be too incredibly upset," she replied, hoping she was correct. Things hadn't been right between her and Reed since the explosion and plasma fire three weeks ago. However, she was fairly sure she was still a reasonable judge of her C.O.'s behavior. _I hope._ "I mean," she added aloud, "there really isn't _anything_ going on right now."

"I suppose you're right." Young continued to stand there, idly examining the phase pistol.

They stood there in idle silence for several moments until Cormack couldn't stand it anymore. She shut off the target emitter and looked at him. "So what are you really doing here, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"You're not here for target practice. You're not here for anything work related as far as I can tell because there's nothing work related to do. So what's up?"

Young met her open and inquisitive gaze and for a moment he actually considered telling her. He considered telling her that since he and Sato had broken up, he was having a very non-regulation affair with Rostov. He considered telling her that he couldn't sleep at night, even in Michael's company, because he kept having nightmares about the day of the explosion. He considered telling her that no matter how much he talked to Doctor Douglas about it, the ship's counselor just couldn't understand how he felt about having nearly died and he needed to talk to her because he knew she'd been there once herself. He considered all of it in the blink of an eyeand then he dismissed it.

"Nothing. I'm gonna go." Young finally set down his weapon and headed up the stairs.

"I'll see you later," Cormack called after him before he could disappear out the door.

"Sure. See you."

At that moment alert lights flashed on the main and secondary control consoles. Young stopped at the open door and turned back. "What is it?"

Cormack immediately hurried to the main panel. "Hull plating just polarized," she said. "And we've jumped to warp 4.5. There's a vessel pursuing us. Unknown configuration, but the thing is _huge_."

As she spoke, Young descended to the lower level again and joined her.

"They're gaining on us," continued Cormack, a note of urgency in her voice.

"Why hasn't the Captain ordered a tactical alert?" puzzled Young, equally tense.

Cormack tapped in a series of commands. "I think he did. Internal sensors indicate Lieutenant Reed's trying to access weapons from the bridge, but it's no good. The systems just went offline." She worked to reinitialize the ship's armaments, but every attempt failed.

The ship slowed so suddenly that inertial dampeners couldn't completely hide the effect.

"Engines are offline now, too," Young announced. He accessed the external sensors, hoping to find the alien ship and determine its status. He came up empty-handed. Not only was the vessel not registering, neither was anything else.

"I think" he began and then stopped.

"What? What do you think?" demanded Cormack, glancing up at him over one shoulder.

"I think we're inside that ship."

"_What_?"

"Check out the readings." He transferred the sensor readings to the upper screen so they could both see them.

"Helium, traces of xenon" she read aloud. "That's not space."

"No shit."

The comm chirped and they heard their C.O.'s voice. "Reed to Armory."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," replied Cormack.

"Find someone to cover down there and get up to the bridge, Ensign."

"Young's already here, sir. I'll be right up." The comm clicked off and she looked at Young. "Although what either of us is going to do down here or up there is beyond me," she said dryly, her sarcasm masking her alarm.

A thrill of fear zinged along Young's spine. His voice was as steady as Cormack's, but his anxiety was written all over his face. "At least we'll be ready if the systems come back online," he replied determinedly.

"True. I'm outta here. You know where to find me."

*****

Cormack arrived on the bridge to find T'Pol in command. "Reporting as ordered, Sub-commander." The Vulcan nodded and Cormack took her station. Before she even sat down, her attention was riveted to the main viewscreen. What it showed confirmed Young's supposition that they were inside the alien vessel. She shivered involuntarily. _This is so not good,_ she thought.

"The Captain, Commander Tucker, and Lieutenant Reed have taken out a shuttlepod to conduct a closer examination of the alien vessel's interior," T'Pol informed her.

"Sub-commander," Sato said abruptly. "The atmosphere's changing. I'm reading Earth-like conditions, nitrogen and oxygen."

"Can you locate the source of the change?"

"No, ma'am. Sensors still can't pick up anything from the vessel."

"The only bio-signs I'm reading are the away team, ma'am," put in Cormack.

"Maybe the atmospheric systems are automatic," suggested Mayweather from the helm. "Like that repair station, remember?" His own memory of that station was sketchy and unpleasant. He hoped this ship wasn't something similar, but felt the possibility should be voiced.

"That is feasible," agreed T'Pol. "However, visual analysis suggests this technology varies greatly from that of the station."

Mayweather relaxed slightly at her words. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed readily.

Tense silence followed as they continued to monitor what little the ship's sensors could detect.

Archer's voice over the comm startled them all. "Archer to _Enterprise_," he called urgently.

"Go ahead," replied T'Pol.

"Tell Phlox to meet us at the decon chamber."

"Understood." She nodded to Sato to comply as the external comm closed. The ensign quickly alerted sickbay of the Captain's command.

Cormack puzzled it over in her head. Nothing on her screens suggested the need for Phlox's attention; even going through decon looked like it would be a simple formality. She wondered what had happened out there.

*****

Archer stayed behind in sickbay after he'd sent Tucker and Reed off to work on reactivating the engines and weapons, respectively. He didn't want to upset either of them, but he needed to talk to Phlox more before he felt confident that his Chief Engineer was truly all right.

"You really think Tucker was simply hallucinating out there?" he asked the Denobulan.

"I told you it's a common response. He said the images were familiar ones—swimming with an old girlfriend, I believe it was?" Archer nodded and Phlox continued. "There's nothing to indicate any foreign substance in his system, and he's showing no residual ill effects. I suspect it was merely a mild form of space-sickness brought on by his perceptions of the interior of the alien vessel."

"What about that blue vapor?" the captain persisted. "Itentered him. Malcolm and I both saw it. It went right through the EV suit helmet as if it wasn't even there. Then, when it left him, Trip said he'd been on the ceiling with the rest of them _and_ swimming in Florida at the same time. How do you explain that?"

"At the moment, I can't. Captain," continued the physician placatingly, "I understand your concern, but right now there's nothing to be concerned about. Commander Tucker is fine. Now, should something enter him again, I'll do my best to deal with the problem."

Archer wasn't entirely satisfied, but he knew there was only so much he could reasonably expect under the circumstances. "All right. Thanks. "

"You're welcome."

*****

Archer tried to weigh the balance between the old adage "No news is good news" and the saying "The silence was deafening." He was quickly learning that the silence weighed far heavier on his mind. Nothing untoward had happened since he, Tucker, and Reed had returned to _Enterprise_, but neither had any progress been made in restoring _Enterprise_'s engines and weapons or freeing her from the alien vessel. They were at an impasse.

He knew Sato was working on communicating with the strange and potentially sentient wisps of vapor that hovered about the interior of the alien ship. So far she'd been unsuccessful, but if there was a way he was confident that she would find it.

Tired of pacing the tiny space of his ready room, Archer stepped out onto the bridge and approached T'Pol at the science station.

"Any luck pinning down those things out there?" he asked, fairly certain he already knew what her answer would be.

"None. I've tried scanning them on a variety of different wavelengths not standard for Starfleet sensors. All have been equally unsuccessful."

There was a slight edge to the Vulcan's voice. Archer wondered if she wasn't growing frustrated with their situation, too. He leaned over the console next to her to better examine the data on the monitor.

Before he could comment, however, he was hailed.

"Rostov to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead," he replied promptly.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I think there might be something wrong with Commander Tucker," the young man said uncertainly.

Archer glanced at T'Pol worriedly. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

Rostov sounded apologetic and almost embarrassed when he replied. "He was confused and, uhseemed to think I was his superior officer."

"I'll be right down." Without hesitation the captain headed to the turbolift, but Rostov's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"He's not here, sir. He left engineering."

"Did he say where he was going?" Archer asked, returning to stand by T'Pol's station once again.

"No, sir. I'm afraid not, Captain."

Worry and frustration played across Archer's expressive face. He punched off the comm and opened a new line. "Archer to Commander Tucker." There was no response. He looked at T'Pol. "Find him."

The science officer input a search command and quickly came up with the result. "He's in the mess hall."

"You're with me," Archer informed her, heading again for the lift. "Hoshi, have Lieutenant Reed meet us there. You have the bridge, Travis," he called to the helmsman as the lift door shut.

*****

"I'm really fine," Trip insisted for the umpteenth time as Malcolm escorted him to sickbay.

"You certainly didn't seem fine back in the mess hall," Malcolm countered, worry coloring his usually even tones.

"That wasn't really me."

Malcolm shot him a look that was clearly meant to say, 'Do you expect that to make me feel better?'

Trip sighed and tried to explain. "It was me, but only the physical me. The real me wasall sorts of places."

"So you said. Hopalong Cassidy was it?" His concern for his lover came out sounding more like disdain. Malcolm hoped Trip wouldn't misunderstand how he really felt. "You're not helping your case here, you realize that. And the next time you decide to visit 'Lisa' perhaps you'd invite me along for an introduction."

"Malcolm—" But whatever he was about to say was cut off as they reached sickbay and Malcolm opened the door.

Phlox looked at them in mild surprise. "Back again?" he inquired, pulling a medical scanner from a pocket of his smock.

"Another one of thosewisps entered him," Reed said bluntly.

"And has it gone?"

"Yes," Tucker answered firmly.

"Have a seat, please, Commander." Phlox gestured to a biobed and Trip sat. The Denobulan began to examine the engineer for the second time that day.

Annoyance and impatience played a game of one-upmanship on Trip's face. "Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say I'm fine?" he bemoaned, shooting a meaningful glare at Malcolm. The older man said nothing, but simply crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the doctor's pronouncement.

"You have been entered twice, Commander," Phlox pointed out as he ran his scans. "However, I believe it is safe to say that you are, indeed, fine now."

"Thank you."

Trip continued to stare challengingly at Malcolm, who held his gaze. Reed knew he'd lost this particular argument, but he was glad of it. Still, there was something bothering him that he hoped Phlox could resolve. "Do you have any idea why he's been their target twice now? Why not possess someone else?"

"I don't believe it's a question of possession, Lieutenant," Phlox replied. "I have the impression it's more like displacement."

"Yeah," confirmed Trip, nodding.

"That doesn't answer my question," Malcolm pressed.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer." The Denobulan looked apologetic. "I suspect it was chance that the Commander was chosen the first time, then I suspect familiarity was the impetus for the secondexchange."

"Crossing." The armory officer suddenly recalled what the wisp had said when it had spoken through Trip. "It called it 'the crossing'."

"Interesting. Well it's definitely crossed back, so you're free to go, Commander."

Trip rose. "Thanks again, Doc," he said. "I've got a lot of work to do and I need to get back to it."

Malcolm fought back a frustrated sigh. "So do I." He'd had no success reactivating the ship's weapons. Even with the help of Ensigns Cormack and Young, they'd not been able to get a single system functioning. "Perhaps we'll both have better luck now that that alien ship has released us." But there was little conviction in his words.

*****

"Lieutenant," said Young as his C.O. entered the armory. "Is everything okay, sir?"

"For the moment, Ensign," Reed confirmed. "What's your status here?" He descended to the lower level and joined Young at the main control console.

"Same as when you left, unfortunately."

At that moment Cormack's voice came over the comm. "I've got squat here, Ian," she announced disconsolately. "There's nothing physically wrong with the targeting mechanism. It just won't reinitialize."

"Understood."

"I'm coming out. There's nothing else I can do in here." The comm clicked off and a short time later she emerged from an open access panel at the aft of the armory. She was surprised and pleased to find Reed back so soon. Like Young, she had heard Archer's hail regarding Tucker's odd and unexpected behavior and she was glad the problem appeared to have been sorted out quickly. "Everything's cool with Commander Tucker, sir?" she asked.

"For the time being. Unfortunately there doesn't appear to be anything stopping these aliens from taking him, or any of us, any time they choose."

"Too bad the forcefield you developed can't encompass the whole ship."

"That had occurred to me, too, but there's no guarantee it would be any more effective than the hull plating." Neither Cormack nor Young replied; the lieutenant was right. "We'd best get back to work."

The evening passed with no more success than the afternoon. The three of them were on the upper level going over yet another potential way to reinitialize the phase cannons when Reed finally really looked at the other members of his team. He wondered if he appeared as exhausted as they did. Then he decided he didn't want to know.

"You two get some rest," he said abruptly. "We've been at this all day and you both look as though you could use a break."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant—" Cormack began.

He held up a hand and stopped her mid-sentence. "Save it, Ensign. I know what you're going to say."

She nodded reluctantly, knowing it was a battle she wouldn't win.

"Crewman Griffith is due on Gamma shift in less than an hour. Perhaps fresh eyes will see something the three of us have been missing."

"Sir," Young tried to protest, too.

"No, Ensign. Take a break. Get something to eat, get some rest. We have no idea when the next attack will come or what form it'll take. You need to be sharp." He stared down his subordinates squarely, conveniently ignoring the fact that everything he said applied to himself as well as them.

"Yes, sir," they both replied, equally reluctant but aware their C.O. would brook no further argument on the matter.

The ensigns departed and Reed was left alone.

It was as if the entity had been lying in wait. For all Reed knew, it had been. No sooner had the others left than it appeared. He was lucky enough to catch sight of it reflected in a glass panel. He raced for the weapons locker on the lower level of the armory and grabbed a phase pistol, then immediately spun and fired at the invading wisp of vapor.

The gun's beam went straight through it with no apparent effect.

Reed made a beeline for the nearest exit. He hit the corridor at a run as the armory door slipped shut behind him. He didn't think it would stop the alien, but he hoped it would at least slow it down long enough for him to reach a turbolift. It didn't.

Not a dozen steps later, Reed froze. He felt the being enter his mind, but he was powerless stop it. The thing forced him out of his body despite all his efforts to fight it. He wondered fleetingly if it was the same entity that had inhabited Trip, but the thought vanished abruptly and suddenly he was looking down at himself from the ceiling. Malcolm didn't like what he saw. There was an unaccustomed sneer on his face that he was certain he never sported when he was himself.

_Trip went back to Earth after making the crossing,_ he thought. _Back to Earth and back in time. That suggests I can go anywhere I want,_ he continued, grasping for logic as the only tangible thing in his intangible state. _ I want to be right there._ With that desire held firmly in his disembodied mind, he dove at himself—only to find a wall had been erected against his return. He battered at the wall, throwing himself against it repeatedly until, with a simple flick of his head, the new inhabitant of Reed's body tossed him off like so much lint.

Malcolm could only watch in frustrated impotence as his body leered at a passing female crewman and headed off to the turbolift. _Well, I may not be able to do anything yet, but I'm certainly not going anywhere else._ He resolutely followed his body into the lift, which was already occupied by another female crewman.

He soon wished he hadn't followed. The way the entity acted was so far from Reed's natural behavior that it made the incorporeal armory officer wince. _I'll be lucky if she doesn't file sexual harassment charges against me!_ he thought in distress as the alien made incredibly inappropriate advances toward the woman. Had his cheeks still been his own he would have blushed furiously.

Fortunately the crewman seemed more annoyed than offended and quickly left him when they reached B-deck. Malcolm tried again to gain access to his body, hoping to catch the invading entity while it wasn't paying attention. He came up against the same barrier as before. He saw himself sneer again and this time he knew the sneer was meant for him. The alien had nothing but disdain for his helpless condition.

For the first time since being displaced, Malcolm wondered if he would ever regain his physical form.

*****

People were taken all around the ship; Reed was simply the first.

"They've got Malcolm," Archer informed Tucker over the comm as he and T'Pol headed for the bridge. They had just witnessed the armory officer being locked in Reed's quarters by two of his own security personnel. "I need the ship ready to go on my command."

There was no mistaking the worry in Tucker's voice when he replied. "They're gonna give him back, aren't they?"

Archer couldn't lie to him, but he simply didn't have an answer. He settled on an enigmatic and unsatisfactory, "We'll see."

Rostov stood next to the Chief Engineer at the main engineering console, listening worriedly to the exchange between him and the captain. A part of him wondered how long it would be before he or someone else in engineering was taken and what would happen when they were. He didn't have to wonder long.

While Tucker hailed Ensign Cook, Rostov went to prime the deuterium pumps as he'd been ordered. He saw the alien coming, but couldn't avoid it. "Commander!" he shouted from where he stood by the warp engine. It was all he could say before the alien entered his body and he was pushed out.

Tucker descended to the main deck quickly. He looked at the wide-eyed young man dubiously. There was no sign of what had caused the urgency he'd heard in Rostov's voice just seconds ago. "Something wrong?" he asked cautiously. When Rostov replied, he knew it was no longer the human crewman inside his body, but another alien like the one that had taken Tucker before.

He quickly hailed the captain and told him what had happened. "I think you'd better get Malcolm" He paused, remembering that his lover was also no longer himself. "I mean, whoever's running security down here right away," he informed the captain.

Tucker kept one eye on Rostov while he waited for the security team that would take him and lock him in his quarters. He seemed harmless enough, standing and staring at the warp engine. Tucker had to remind himself that displacing another person's consciousness was more than enough to constitute a threat.

He heaved a sigh of relief when Cormack and Martinez arrived and lead Rostov away.

Rostov gave the security team no trouble as they escorted him to his cabin, although they faced a problem when they found his bunkmate there.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with him?" demanded crewman Singh. He watched as his roommate looked around the cabin as if he'd never seen it or its contents before.

"Nothing. We need you out so we can lock him in," replied Cormack. "Sorry."

The disgruntled crewman grabbed his boots and a datapad he'd been reading. "Fine. I'm sure no one will complain if I show up for duty half an hour early." Before he left, he glared at the other man. "Don't touch anything."

Rostov smiled back at him blandly and sat down on the nearest bunk. Unfortunately, it was Singh's. Singh glared at him again, shook his head, and then joined the security team in the corridor.

Cormack locked and security coded the door behind him. "If they get you, too, at least you'll have company when we bring you back here," she joked grimly.

Before Singh could reply, a wisp of blue vapor appeared through the bulkhead opposite the cabin door. Cormack was the first to spot it. "Run!" she shouted as she raised her weapon. The others needed no further urging. Martinez and Singh took off running in opposite directions. Cormack aimed her phase pistol at the wisp and fired. No effect. She quickly upped the setting to kill and fired again.

"Damn it!" she swore as the beam passed harmlessly through the thing and scorched the bulkhead behind it. Shoving the useless weapon into its holster, she tucked her head down and ran. There was a turbolift at the end of the corridor. If she could reach it, maybe she could get away. In a rare stroke of luck, it opened as she approached it and she dove inside, inadvertently tackling the person already within.

They landed with a thud and a grunt as the door closed and the lift continued upward.

"What the—?" gasped Ensign Snider as Cormack rolled off of her.

"Sorry. I—" The rest of her words were lost as the wisp suddenly appeared through the floor. It shot up to Cormack's face and enveloped it. She gasped as the thing entered her and her own consciousness was shoved roughly out.

There was a short silence before Snider spoke again. "Are you Are you all right?" she asked trepidatiously.

The disembodied Cormack watched from above as her head turned and she smiled pleasantly at the strawberry-blonde young woman. "I'm fine."

She rose to her feet as the lift came to a halt. Cormack stepped out, looking around as if uncertain which way to go. She made a choice and soon disappeared around a corner. Snider watched her, kneeling in the doorway of the lift, then sat back and let the door shut. She stood shakily and tapped the comm panel.

"Snider to the bridge."

Sato replied. "Go ahead."

"I think one of the aliens just took over Ensign Cormack. She was okay, then thisthingI don't know It didsomething and she started acting kind of strange."

"How long ago?"

"Just a few seconds."

"Is she with you now?" Sato asked.

"No. She's on C-deck," said Snider. "I don't know where she's going."

"I'll let security know."

"Wait," Snider added quickly before Sato could close the connection. "Tell them to be careful. She had a phase pistol and I don't know if it was set for stun or kill."

There was a slight pause. "Understood."

*****

It came as a relief to the non-corporeal Malcolm when his physical form was eventually confined to his cabin. There, alone, the invader in his body couldn't do any more damage. He consoled himself with the knowledge that T'Pol, at least, knew it wasn't really him when he'd approached her in her quarters. With her support, surely the crewman in the lift and the one before her in the corridor would realize it and understand, too.

_I can't be the only one who's been displaced like this,_ Malcolm thought._ I wonder what the captain will do if Trip manages to get the engines working again. Would he leave without us?_ It was a thought he didn't want to consider, but he felt he ought to.

_He wouldn't have much choice no matter how many of the crew have been taken. What's that Vulcan saying? 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.' That's it._

He felt frustrated and powerless. It wasn't a feeling he relished. If he'd still had his body, he would have paced, but that wasn't an option. He continued to watch himself methodically exploring his cabin.

Unable to stand his inactivity any longer, Malcolm threw his essence at his body in a moment of frustration and rage. His physical form looked surprised and he felt a tiny crack open in the wall that kept him out. He fought harder.

_You're not getting in,_ he heard a voice that was and yet was not his own declare.

_So _you_ say,_ Malcolm challenged back.

_So I know. You have the whole universe to explore. Explore it._

The finality in the tone was echoed by the sudden sealing of the crack that Malcolm had been trying to access. He felt himself pushed away in an almost physical sense. His mind spun through space and time without direction or restraint. Malcolm forced himself to remain calm, but it was difficult in the face of his rising panic. He didn't like being out of control.

_Out of control_

He jerked to a stop and gasped. Malcolm looked down at himself, surprised to find he appeared to have a physical form again. _It's all an illusion,_ he told himself firmly. _Your body is back on _Enterprise_, inhabited by a hostile alien life-form._

Still, after the stories Trip had told, he had to wonder where and when he was. He looked around.

"Oh no," he said slowly. He knew exactly where he was and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he also knew _when_.

He moved to the window, hoping to disprove his suspicion, but there was the undeniable view of London he remembered far too well. He knelt on the leather sofa and stared out at the cold Spring sunshine filtering weakly through high, gray clouds. _This is not where I want to be._ And yet he remained there, unable or unwilling to move from the spot.

Slowly he turned his back on London and looked around the room. The short wall on his left sported a small fireplace surrounded on both sides and above by shelves of books. The longer wall directly across from him boasted a huge painting and a single door, currently shut. The wall to his right held another closed door and yet more shelves, this time with a small number of framed photographs and a sloppy stack of sheet music. In the corner stood a guitar.

It was a day he'd never wanted to experience the first time; he certainly had no desire to relive it now. _I've got to leave._ But he didn't move.

A voice in a distant, locked corner of his mind spoke up for the first time in a very long time. _It's your second chance._

He sat up a little straighter. _What?_

_It's your second chance,_ the voice said again. _You're being given a chance to fix what went wrong._

_I haven't been _given_ anything,_ he thought back angrily. _I was forced out of my body and now I've been sent here, without consultation or consent._ "This isn't where I belong anymore," he said aloud.

"Talking to yourself again, Malcolm?" asked a snide and slightly condescending voice. "That's a sure sign you're finally losing it, you know. Just as I suspected."

Rain began to patter lightly at the window behind Malcolm. He looked up and found himself staring at the one person he'd hoped never to see again as long as he lived.

*****

Young knew he shouldn't be doing what he was doing, but that didn't stop him. It barely even slowed him down. Taking one last, quick look up and down the corridor to be certain he wasn't seen, he keyed open the security code on the lock to Rostov's cabin and went inside.

There was Rostov, or at least his physical form, seated on Singh's bunk. He looked up at the new arrival with no sign of recognition in his deep brown eyes. "Hello," he said pleasantly.

"Hey." The door slid shut behind the armory ensign. He continued to stand only one step into the room. "Michael?"

Rostov tilted his head to one side as if considering. "Yes," he said after a moment's thought. "I'm crewman Michael Rostov."

But it was abundantly obvious to Young that this wasn't really Michael. "No, you're not," he replied flatly.

"I" The alien in Rostov's body hesitated, then conceded. "No."

"So where is he? Michael, I mean."

"He is safe."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't know exactly where or when he is."

"Then how do you know he's safe?" challenged Young, angrily taking a step towards the too quiescent Rostov. The other man only continued to look at him mildly.

"There is no danger inherent in the crossing, I assure you," he said. "If you would allow it yourself, you would understand."

"'Allow it'?" echoed Young snidely. "Like Michael and Lieutenant Reed and Cormack and all the others 'allowed' you to take over their bodies? Forget it.. I'm not 'allowing' anything and I want _you_ to 'allow' Michael come back _now_." Young's tone was icy with the threat of fire underneath it.

Rostov's face grew pensive. "Is he valuable to you?"

If possible, Young's voice grew even colder. "What do you mean?"

"I don't understand the titles on your vessel. Is 'crewman' valuable?"

"As valuable as any other human life. Now give him back."

"But this one" He looked down at himself and then up at Young thoughtfully. "He is valuable to _you_, particularly. Isn't he?"

"I—" Before Ian could answer, Tucker's voice came over the comm.

"Tucker to Security," he said, urgency and frustration clear in his tone.

Gaze still locked on Rostov, Young reached for the comm panel by the door and punched open the line. "Young here, sir. Go ahead," he answered, eyes and voice unwavering.

"I need you in Engineering. They've got Lawless."

"Understood. I'll be right there." He closed the comm. "Next time I see you, it better not be _you_ in Michael's body. Got it?" he threatened.

Rostov gave him an apologetic look. "I understand you," he replied, "but I can't promise you that."

Young wanted to stay and argue, fight it out with this deceptively pleasant alien, but he had a job to do. He shot one final glare at the other man and stormed out, securing the lock behind him before heading quickly to Main Engineering.

*****

Stephanie wasn't on _Enterprise_ anymore. Logically she knew it was impossible, but she couldn't deny that she now stood in the living room of her sister's house. She looked around. It was much like it had been when she'd last visited nearly two years ago. Watery sunlight filtered through the last of the leaves on the oak tree outside the big picture window, casting dappled shadows on the room. A fluffy black cat slept contentedly on the back of the leather sofa. Family photos lined the stone mantel above the fireplace.

She crossed to the mantel and looked at the pictures. There was the sepia-toned photograph of Ryn and Gemma dancing at their wedding. There was Kevin's portrait from his second birthday. There was the shot of Mom, caught up to her elbows in her garden and looking both annoyed and amused. Stephanie grinned. She'd set their mother up for that, telling Ryn to grab a camera and take the candid photo.

Her smile faded when she saw the next picture. Instead of the photo of their father that Ryn usually kept there, there was a picture of Stephanie. She regarded it with disdain. It was a copy of the official Starfleet portrait everyone had to have taken so their families could see how great they looked in their uniforms. She reached up and took it in her hand.

"Hey," said Ryn.

Stephanie spun around to face her older sister. Until that moment she'd assumed it was a dream. Admittedly a very vivid and realistic dream, but she was more or less used to those. But there was Ryn, leaning on a pair of silver canes and with her hair still growing out from the fire.

"I didn't hear you come in," she continued as if nothing was strange or at all amiss. She made her way to the sofa and sat down. She leaned her canes on the arm and reached out to pet the sleeping cat. "Pretty good picture of you, isn't it?" she asked, seeing the framed photo in Stephanie's hands.

"Where's the one of Dad?" Stephanie asked without preamble.

"I moved it. We're running out of room on the mantel. It's over there now." She gestured to a highly polished table in the corner.

Stephanie returned her own picture to the mantel and went to the table. There was the image she sought. It was a picture of Nicholas and his two daughters on the family sailboat. They were squinting in the bright light of the summer sun and they were laughing. She picked it up and looked at it. "I think it's the only picture Mom's ever taken where she didn't cut someone's head off," she said quietly.

"Yeah," agreed Ryn with a chuckle. She scooped the cat from the back of the sofa and pulled it onto her lap. The cat complained briefly before settling down and resuming its nap as she scratched it gently under its collar. "Did you see the picture of Lalita?"

Stephanie shook her head.

"It's on that end of the mantel, right next to you there. Take a look."

Stephanie held onto the picture of her father as she turned to look at the photo of her niece whom she'd never met. She smiled. "She's gorgeous," she said.

"Lots prettier than Kevin when he was that age, right?"

"I didn't—" She stopped short when she recognized the gleam in her sister's eyes; Ryn was playing with her. "You're never going to let me forget I said that, are you?"

"Of course not. Why would I let a juicy tidbit like that get away from me?" Ryn smirked at her.

"Because you're the good sister and I'm the evil one?" Stephanie offered as she crossed the room and sat next to her.

"You lost that title when you cleaned up your act back in university."

"I always knew there'd be drawbacks to going clean and sober. Can I have this?" she asked in a complete non sequitur, holding up the framed photo.

"The picture of us with Dad? No. I thought you had a copy."

Stephanie shook her head. "I did, but I don't know what happened to it."

"I'll send you one then," Ryn offered. "I have it on the computer and I'll send it with a letter tomorrow—assuming you're still on _Enterprise_ and this is a dream like last time."

Stephanie shrugged and set the picture on the coffee table where she could look at it while they talked. "It's not a dream."

Ryn nodded slowly. "I got that impression, but I thought I should check. What's going on?"

"I don't really know. I'm not really here, but I'm here, eh?" She gave a disgusted snort. "Not that that makes any sense at all."

"It makes as much sense as meeting you on the boat the other month. But I know that was a dream."

"Yeah. Kind of." Stephanie looked down at the picture on the table. "That was a good day."

"Yeah, it was," her sister agreed.

Stephanie didn't seem to hear her. She went on softly. "It was the last time we were on the boat together before he died."

"I know."

There was a silence punctuated only by the sound of the purring cat in Ryn's lap and the occasional gust of wind in the oak tree.

"I could go back," declared Stephanie abruptly. It was a sudden realization with a ring of truth to it.

Ryn shrugged. "You could, I suppose. Considering you're here when you shouldn't be here, I'm guessing something really bizarre is going on."

"That's the truth."

"When would you go back to? The day that picture was taken?"

Stephanie knew immediately that wasn't where or when she would go. "No." She met her sister's blue gaze with fire in her eyes. "No. I can go anywhere whenever I want. I'll go back and make him stay home that day—the day he died."

"You tried to make him stay the first time and it didn't work," her sister reminded her evenly.

"He'll listen this time. I'll make him listen." There was desperation in her voice. "He wouldn't listen because he thought I just had an overactive imagination. Now that I know I was right, I can make him stay."

"You're talking about rewriting history, Ephie," Ryn said, using the childhood nickname she'd not spoken since Stephanie had turned ten and declared it off-limits.

"I don't care!"

"Of course you do, but I'm not going to try to stop you." Ryn raised an eyebrow at her. "So you can wipe that look off your face like you want to kick my ass or something."

Stephanie looked away sheepishly, knowing full well that was exactly what she'd been thinking.

"Just don't be disappointed if it doesn't work this time, either."

"It'll work," stated Stephanie in a tone that challenged her to disagree again.

"For your sake, Ephie, I hope it does."

*****

Ian sat heavily on the makeshift bunk. He looked at Ari who still stood by the railing. "I never thought we'd be stuck back in here," he said morosely.

Ari shrugged and sat down next to him. "Look on the bright side."

"The bright side? Let's see." Ian pretended to ponder the idea. "Twenty-four members of the crew have been taken over by alien life-forms and been locked in their quarters. The rest of us—minus Doctor Phlox—are stuck in the catwalk _again_, only this time we don't have a clue how long we'll be here or how to get rid of the 'bad guys'." He lowered his voice so his next words wouldn't be overheard. "Michael and Hoshi have both been taken and there's nothing I can do about any of it."

Ari looked at him sidelong. "You still care about Hoshi, don't you? In spite of you andyou know."

Ian fixed him with a stare. "Out of everything I just said, you pick _that_ to comment on? Do you really think now is the time to talk about my love life?"

"What else is there to talk about?"

"_Anything_ would be preferable."

The pair fell silent, much like the rest of the sequestered crew. There were hushed mumblings all along the catwalk, but no one seemed interested in talking much.

"Maybe Doctor Phlox will come up with something soon," suggested Ari, his tone a mix of hope and doubt. "He and Sub-commander T'Pol figured out how to identify the taken crewmembers, after all. What's to say he won't come up with a way to take them back?"

"How come he's immune to these aliens, anyway?" Ian demanded suddenly. "Can't whatever's keeping him safe help the rest of us?"

Ari shook his head. "It's physiology, not psychology. He's just not compatible for this crossing thing the aliens are doing."

"Lucky bastard."

Further along the catwalk, a similar discussion was taking place between Liz and Bonnie.

"How are you holding up?" Liz asked the helmsman quietly.

Bonnie shrugged. "How should I be? Stephanie and Mae are your friends, too. How are _you_ dealing?"

"They're my friends, yes, but neither of them is my girlfriend. I'm lucky. Travis is here in the catwalk; he's as safe as any of us right now. But Stephanie" She trailed off. They really didn't know where Stephanie was, although her physical self was locked up tight in the cabin she shared with Liz.

"Stephanie's going to be fine," Bonnie stated matter-of-factly.

"We don't know that," said Liz as gently as she could. "We don't know that any of us will be okay. I mean, there's no guarantee the osmium alloy in this nacelle will keep the aliens out indefinitely, and we can't stay in here forever."

"We don't have to. Everything will get sorted out and we'll be fine. We'll _all_ be fine."

The sharpness in Bonnie's tone made Liz retreat a little. She didn't want to start a fight, but neither did she think it wise to hold onto blind faith as her companion appeared to be doing. "We don't know that," she repeated, still gently but with a ring of steel in her voice.

Bonnie turned hard green eyes on her. "I have to know that," she said rigidly. "I won't accept any other alternative. I may be helpless in this situation, but I refuse to be hopeless, too."

Liz recognized the stubborn set of Bonnie's jaw and she knew she wouldn't sway the other woman's firm resolve. In her heart, she didn't want to. Liz wanted to cling to hope as completely and undauntedly as Bonnie, but she was too accustomed to facing the reality of desperate situations. One couldn't work in sickbay without a strong grasp of the limits of human endurance, although so far _Enterprise_ and her crew had been lucky and no one had been lost yet.

_Yet,_ her mind echoed against her will.

*****

Stephanie looked around her even though she knew precisely where she was. She was in her bedroom in her parents' house and the calendar on the desk told her everything else she needed to know.

She flung open her bedroom door and raced downstairs to the kitchen where she froze in the open archway.

There was Nicholas Cormack looking exactly as he had the last day she'd seen him alive, exactly the way she saw him in her dreams.

He hadn't noticed her yet and she reveled in the moment, just watching him as he sat at the table sipping his coffee and eating his toast with jam just like he had every morning she could remember. Only today he was going to die.

"Daddy-O?" she said, a slight tremor in her voice.

Nicholas turned and smiled at his youngest daughter. "Morning, Spitfire. What are you doing up so early?"

She shrugged, reluctant to speak up. "Where's Mom?"

"She had to go in early today. She said something about a dawn-blooming plant that she needed to observe."

"Oh." She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. While the adult Stephanie shouted at herself to tell him what was going to happen, the teenaged Stephanie finally worked up the nerve to say what was on her mind. "Daddy-O, you can't go to work today."

His smile turned to a concerned frown. "Why not? Are you sick?"

She shook her head. "No. But I had a dream last night"

"Ah. Another one of your dreams, eh?" His tone was warm but disbelieving. "When are you going to realize dreams are not real, Stephanie?"

"Sometimes they are!" she insisted. _What am I doing?_ a part of her thought as the words came out of her mouth of their own volition. _That's not what I wanted to say!_

"Sit down." He pushed out a chair with one foot and Stephanie sat reluctantly. "I know you don't like what I do—"

"That's not true!" she protested immediately. "I think what you do is totally cool! It's what I want to do after college, you know that."

"All right, all right." Nicholas held up both hands defensively. "I stand corrected."

Stephanie's mind spun. This wasn't right at all. The whole scene was playing out exactly as it had the first time. _But I'm an adult now! Doesn't he see? Can't he tell I mean what I say? That I'm not imagining this?_

A terrible realization hit her. _I'm not an adult now._ She knew it without having to see for herself. She needed no mirror to tell her that her normally blonde hair was currently a bright and unnatural shade of red, or that the tiny frown lines between her eyes were gone, or that she was wearing the fleecy green bathrobe she'd gotten for her fourteenth birthday. _I'm fifteen and there's nothing I can do to change what's going to happen today._

She looked at her father, pleading and fear in her eyes. "Promise me you'll come home tonight. You won't go out with the guys after work. You won't make any stops on the way. You'll just come straight home tonight."

Nicholas looked at her, bemused. "Spitfire, I—"

"Promise me!" she all but shouted at her father.

"All right. If it means that much to you, I promise. I'll come right home tonight. No delays, no detours. I'll just come home."

Stephanie nodded, exactly as she had that day, only now she knew it was a promise he wouldn't—_couldn't_—keep.

"You gonna be okay?" Nicholas asked.

She nodded. She couldn't do anything else.

"Okay." He rose, tossing back the last of his coffee and setting the empty mug on the table.

"I love you, Daddy-O," she said with every ounce of truth in her.

"I love you, too, Spitfire. I'll see you tonight," he said, leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"See you." She continued to sit at the kitchen table as her father grabbed his heavy black coat and headed out the door.

_No!_ screamed her adult self. _Stop! Daddy-O, stop!!_ But it was too late. He was gone and she'd been unable to make him stayagain.

_No! No! No! No! No! No! No!_

*****

Malcolm looked around in shock. A split second ago he'd been sitting in the London flat he'd shared for six years before joining Starfleet. Now he sat in a small canoe on a pristine blue lagoon. A tropical breeze blew through his close-cropped hair and tingled on his damp skin.

Without warning, a figure appeared in the water next to the boat and splashed him playfully.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, raising an arm to shield his face from the spray.

Maddy laughed and took hold of the boat with one hand. "Come swimming with me!" she insisted. "I'm just going to keep splashing at you until you do."

Malcolm knew his little sister was telling the truth. She could be quite mercilessly determined when she wanted something badly enough. "I'm not coming in and if you keep splashing at me you're only going to swamp the boat," he pointed out firmly.

"So? We can swim to shore if we have to," she countered impatiently. "It's not that far."

The twelve-year-old Malcolm looked back to shore, shading his eyes with one hand. He was a reasonable swimmer—in the Reed family one had to be—but he didn't relish the idea of swimming to shore from his present location. "Far enough," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." He lowered his hand and Maddy took the opportunity to splash him again. "Stop it!"

She only giggled and dove under the boat, coming up on the other side and sending yet another sparkling, wet wave at him.

"Maddy!" he shouted sternly. "I'm drenched!"

"So you might as well dive in!" she argued with her unwavering and indisputable child's logic. "Please?" She turned guileless blue eyes on her big brother.

The adult Malcolm watched from inside the eyes of his younger self and smiled. He knew he would give in to her; he always did. He never passed up a chance to make her happy if he could help it. The frequent relocations of their family seemed to bother her less than they did him and he felt it was his duty to make sure it stayed that way.

"All right," he finally acquiesced. "Just stop splashing at me." He quickly pulled off his sodden green t-shirt and draped it over the bench behind him, then made certain his swimming trunks were securely tied.

Maddy laughed. "You're so tidy," she teased. "You're in a _canoe_, Malcolm. Stop fussing about."

Malcolm didn't bother to argue the point. He rose carefully to his feet and leapt over the side of the boat into the water. He came up and treaded water by his sister, stabilizing himself with one hand on the boat just as she had earlier.

"That's better!" declared Maddy firmly. She grinned before diving under the water again and coming up several meters away. "Come on," she called, swiping her hair back from her face. In her bright pink and orange swimsuit, she looked like a small, free-floating coral reef bobbing about in the water.

"Come on where?" Malcolm called back. He was hesitant to leave the safety of the canoe—particularly when he could see no logical destination other than the distant beach.

"Just come on. I want to show you something."

"Show me what?" He looked around. "There's nothing out here but water."

"It's _underneath_ the water, dummy," she declared as if he were a complete moron.

"Underneath?" Malcolm echoed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She gave him an exasperated look that was as clear as the crystal blue water around them. Malcolm relented as the elder Malcolm had known he would, as he knew exactly what Maddy had found.

He swam out to her and she grinned. "Take a deep breath and follow me," she ordered.

Still dubious, Malcolm complied. They both inhaled deeply and dove. To the young Malcolm's surprise, they didn't have to descend far to reach Maddy's discovery. They were above a sandbar that was barely two and a half meters below the surface. He gave her a quizzical look and she smiled back at him as they reached the bar.

It took only a moment of searching for her to find what she sought. She shifted a rock about fifteen centimeters in diameter and reached quickly into the sand below it. Malcolm's eyes widened when she pulled out a brilliantly colored crustacean. It looked like an ordinary crab other than its coloring, which was so vibrant it shone even under water.

Malcolm's breath was about to run out on him. He signaled to his sister that they should surface and she nodded back. Before kicking off, however, she carefully placed the crab back on the sandbar where it immediately scuttled under cover. Then she replaced the rock and the two of them headed up.

Malcolm's head broke the surface and he gasped in air—and found himself on the floor of his cabin.

*****

"No!"

Stephanie coughed and gasped. Her lungs felt as though she'd just sprinted a marathon and her head ached more than the worst hangover she could remember. It took a moment for her to take in her surroundings. When she did, she let out an inarticulate cry of anger and disappointment.

She was on the floor of her quarters back on _Enterprise_ where she belonged. She hadn't changed anything.

She didn't have the strength of will to stand, so she simply pushed herself upright and leaned against the foot of her bunk. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, letting her head fall forward.

She was still sitting there when Liz returned.

Liz knelt next to her and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Stephanie?"

Stephanie turned red-rimmed and puffy eyes on her bunkmate. It was obvious she'd been crying. She sniffed and wiped her wet cheeks with a sleeve. "Yeah," she rasped wearily, trying to act like nothing was wrong. "What happened?"

"It's a long story." Liz rose, took the box of tissues from above Stephanie's bunk and held it out to her.

"Thanks." Stephanie took several tissues and dried her eyes. "Gimme the abridged version?" she asked before blowing her nose.

"Sub-commander T'Pol discovered the aliens were lying to us about their intentions. The unaffected crew hid out on the catwalk. Phlox figured out that the wisps would be forced out if he flooded the rest of the ship with CO2 and suffocated everyone. Then the Captain blew up their ship."

"Oh," replied Stephanie flatly. Liz offered her a hand and she took it, gratefully accepting Liz's help to rise.

"We're going to sickbay. Phlox wants everyone who was taken to come in for a checkup," Liz said.

For once Stephanie didn't protest the order. She simply nodded and allowed her friend to lead her away.

*****

Mae's first action after regaining her body and being released from sickbay was to shower. She knew it was a completely psychological response to the invasion she'd experienced, but she didn't care. The hot water had felt wonderful.

Now she was back in her cabin preparing for bed. She paused in toweling off her hair and listened. She thought she'd heard the door chime, but couldn't be certain. When it chimed again, she knew she hadn't imagined it. She couldn't think who it might be. She'd been to see Phlox, as she'd been told to do, and she wasn't expected on duty until Alpha shift. It couldn't be Bonnie because she had gone to check on Stephanie.

_And she wouldn't be ringing the bell anyway,_ thought Mae. She called curiously, "Come in?"

The door opened to reveal Ari Cohn standing awkwardly on the other side. "Hello," he said.

"Hi."

There was a brief pause while Mae stood there, towel in one hand, waiting for Ari to explain why he was there.

"May I come in?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure."

Ari entered the cabin and the door slipped shut after him. Another awkward silence fell and Mae became intensely aware of the fact she was fresh from the shower room and dressed in only her bathrobe.

"What's up?" she asked, trying to maintain a balance of informality and decorum.

"I I'm on my way to bed—" Ari stopped short, realizing too late that his words implied more than he'd intended. "I mean I'm heading off duty. We finished checking out everyone who wastaken. Everyone's okay," he added for no good reason other than he didn't know what else to say.

"That's good, considering. I was almost afraid you'd come to tell me Phlox had missed something in his first examination of me," she said only half-jokingly.

"No! No," he hastened to assure her.

"Right on."

There was yet another awkward silence.

"So," said Mae eventually, "was that all you wanted to tell me?" She was still at a bit of a loss as to why he was there, although she had to admit she was quite pleased by his presence. She just wished she'd had a chance to dry her hair before he'd appeared on her doorstep. Mae ran her fingers through her damp locks, sweeping them back only to have them fall forward again, framing her face.

Ari had been about to speak, but was brought up short by her movement. It had been so casual, so instinctive, and so very lovely. He cleared his throat to try again and suddenly noticed she was in her robe. It stymied him to silence once more.

Mae noticed him noticing her and she flushed a little. Her free hand adjusted the front of her robe, making sure she wasn't treating him to more of a show than he'd already gotten.

This time her movement snapped Ari from his momentary stall-out. He looked suddenly away, eyes desperately searching for something on which to focus. Finally they settled on the floor in front of his feet. "I Sorry. I just wanted tomake sure you're okay," he said hastily.

"You just said I waslike everyone else who made the crossing."

"Yeah." It was all he could do to keep from digging a toe into the deckplating in embarrassment. "But" He forced himself to look up and meet her dark, inquisitive gaze. "I wanted to see for myself."

She was about to argue that he'd seen her in sickbay when Phlox had examined her, but she stopped herself in time. The light dawned on her at last and she felt her cheeks grow even rosier. "Oh. Thanks. That's sweet of you."

She smiled at him and Ari immediately smiled back. The look on her face was just the boost his courage needed. "Would youlike to get breakfast with me tomorrow?"

Mae's smile widened. "Sure. Should I meet you in the mess hall?"

"I'llstop by here on the way if that's okay?"

"Yeah. That's great."

"Great!" Ari realized he was grinning like an idiot and decided it was probably time to go. "See you heretomorrow morning."

"See you."

Ari quickly made his escape. The moment he was out the door and around a corner he paused, knees shaking slightly, and leaned against the bulkhead. He sighed in relief as his near-terror slowly ebbed.

A figure came around the opposite end of the corridor unexpectedly and he stood up straight. It was Donnelly.

"At ease, Ensign," the Irishman teased as he approached.

Ari chuckled and hoped it sounded genuine. "Right. You just startled me, that's all."

"So I guessed." He reached the other man and looked at him inquisitively. "You all right?"

"Fine," Ari answered too quickly. The last thing he wanted right then was Donnelly making inquiries. The comm ensign was far too intuitive for his own good in Ari's opinion. "I'll see you around," he said and began to walk away.

"Yeah. See you." Donnelly watched him go and smirked to himself. He had a good idea he knew just what had made Ari so jumpy. He chuckled and continued on his own way, whistling too innocently.

Ari caught a bit of the tune and picked up his pace. It was the unmistakable strains of a particularly insipid love song that had been inexplicably popular around the time _Enterprise_ had left Earth. He didn't look back and he didn't stop until he was safely inside his cabin.

"So how's Mae?" asked Ian.

Ari jumped and turned to face him. He hadn't expected his bunkmate to be there.

Ian stood in the doorway to the lav with his arms crossed over his chest. He was clearly on his way to bed, dressed as he was in pajama bottoms and a loose white t-shirt.

"She's fine," Ari replied as his heartbeat slowed to something like normal. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to check on Michael." He sat down on his bunk and took off his boots so he could avoid Ian's gaze.

"I thought about it. Thought about stopping by to see him and Hoshi, too." Ian crossed to his own bunk and pulled back the covers.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So did you?"

Ian glared over his shoulder at his friend. "No. I didn't go see either of them. Okay? Happy?"

Ari looked at him and frowned. "Why would that make me happy?"

"Forget about it." He got into his bunk and pulled up the blanket.

"Okay, but only because I'm not going to let you ruin my good mood." Ari rose and stripped off his uniform, tossing the various pieces onto his bunk.

Ian's interest was piqued. He rolled onto one side and looked at his bunkmate. Despite himself, he asked, "Good mood?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Mae's more than just 'fine', isn't she?"

Ari couldn't hide his pleased grin. "She'soutstanding."

*****

Stephanie and Bonnie sat at a small table in the empty mess hall, each with a mug of steamed milk in front of her.

"Feeling better?" Bonnie asked.

Stephanie shrugged. She wrapped her hands around her mug and hunched her sweater-clad shoulders defensively. "I guess," she replied flatly.

"You feel like telling me about it?"

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but no. I want to forget it ever happenedtwice." She glowered into her hot milk then sipped it. She took a remote sort of pleasure from the thick head of foam, but it wasn't enough even to put a dent in her grim mood.

Bonnie regarded her closely. She was certain Stephanie needed to talk about what she'd experienced during the crossing, but Bonnie would have to tread carefully if she was going to get the story from the close-mouthed woman. "Okay."

The two sat in companionable silence for a while. As Bonnie continued to watch her lover, she saw Stephanie go somewhere far away in her mind. She was gone for so long, the steam had ceased to rise from her mug.

Bonnie couldn't stand the quiet any more. She wanted Stephanie here now, wanted to reassure her that being back was a good thing. "I knew you'd be all right," she announced.

"Huh?" Stephanie had been lost in thought and was yanked back to the present by her lover's words.

"Liz had her doubts, but I knew you and everyone else'd be all right."

"Oh. Well, it's good you had faith in the Captain, I suppose."

"It didn't have anything to do with him," Bonnie contradicted. "I had no idea whether he would come through for the crew or not—even though he always has before. No." She shook her head slightly. "I just knew you'd come back."

Stephanie gave her a doubtful half smile. "Oh? And how did you know that?"

Bonnie returned the smile teasingly. "You were bound to find a way. You're too damned stubborn not to."

They both chuckled, although Stephanie's laughter was tinged with melancholy. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now tell me what you're thanking me for."

"For believing in me. For being here for me." She reached a hand across the table and took Bonnie's in it.

"There's no where else I could be," Bonnie replied sincerely. She looked deeply into Stephanie's hazel eyes, seeing in them her gratitude and sorrow. _Whatever she went through,_ she thought, _it must have really sucked. I wish I knew how to fix it._

Stephanie returned her gaze steadily. "I went to the day my dad died," she announced quietly, as if she sensed Bonnie's thoughts.

"Shit, why?" the younger woman asked before she could stop herself.

"I thought I could change things, but I was wrong. Really, really wrong."

Bonnie squeezed Stephanie's hand in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

With nothing more to say and no way to fix the problem, Bonnie did the one thing she could think of to try and cheer Stephanie up. She rose, leaned across the small table, and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

When she sat back down, Stephanie's eyes were bright. She smiled through unshed tears. "You're wonderful, you know?"

Bonnie smirked a little and answered coyly. "I know."

Stephanie laughed. "And you're not at all smug or egotistical," she joked.

"Never." Bonnie grinned and was rewarded with the same from Stephanie. "Better now?" she inquired hopefully.

"Better now," her lover echoed.

*****

"So where—or when—did you go?" Trip asked Malcolm as the two prepared for bed. The silence that met his inquiry caused Trip to look over at his lover. "Malcolm?"

"Hm?" The armory officer pulled himself from his musings. "Oh. I went back to Earth," he replied uncommunicatively. He finished undressing down to his blues and chucked the rest of his clothes down the laundry chute.

When Malcolm didn't elaborate on his answer, Trip prompted him. "You want to be a little more specific?"

"Malaysia." He headed into the lav and picked up his toothbrush. "I was on a boat with my sister." He began cleaning his teeth, forestalling further discussion.

Unsatisfied with his answer, Trip followed him. "And?"

Malcolm gave him a falsely puzzled look, his mouth full of toothpaste.

"I'll wait." He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the door frame.

Malcolm took his time. He really wasn't keen to have this conversation. He didn't mind talking about having seen Maddy on what had been a particularly good day of their childhood, but he had no intention of mentioning his first stop on his visit home. Frankly, he would rather have forgotten about it than share it with anyone—even Trip.

He rinsed his mouth and replaced his toothbrush in its holder. "Excuse me," he said pointedly, and Trip moved out of the doorway, letting him back into the cabin.

"C'mon, Malcolm," the younger man prodded. "I told you about the barbecue."

"You did. I'm surprised Lisa wasn't there."

Trip frowned. "Are you gonna throw that in my face for the rest of forever?"

Malcolm sighed. He hadn't meant to be snappish or bitter. He was letting his own insecurities rule his judgment and he knew it was wrong. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. He took a deep breath as he sat on the edge of the bunk. "We were out in a canoe. I think I was about thirteen, maybe twelve. Maddy had found something under the water and she took me to see it."

"Under water?" asked Trip in surprise. He knew Malcolm wasn't a fan of deep water. "How far out were you?"

"I don't know. About a kilometer or a little more. But it turned out there was a sandbar below us only a few meters down. She'd found this amazing crab. It was brightly colored, mottled blue and green and red. I thought at the time that it looked like an alien life-form." He chuckled wryly, remembering their encounter with the Hipon—a large, sentient, and telepathic species of crustacean. "It was beautiful."

"That sounds great." Trip finally finished undressing, trading his uniform for a pair of pajama pants. He noticed Malcolm looking at him. "You don't mind just sleeping tonight, do you?"

"No." Malcolm shook his head and rose to his feet. "I'm too exhausted for anything else right now." What he didn't tell his lover was that his first stop "home" was what had him so wound up and worn out. He changed into his nightclothes as Trip turned on the bedside light and turned off the overhead.

"It has been a helluva day," agreed Trip.

They climbed into the bunk and Trip shut off the small light. The cabin went dark with just the stars to brighten it ever so slightly. The pair snuggled up together with Malcolm spooned in Trip's arms.

"I'm glad you got to have some fun while you were out," the engineer said softly. He rested his cheek against his lover's hair, enjoying the feel and smell of it.

"You, too," answered Malcolm, happy Trip couldn't see his face. He doubted he could have hidden his pained expression in spite of his years of practice at that very thing. "I love you, Trip."

"Love you, too, Malcolm."

*****

Stephanie tossed and turned in her bunk. No matter what she tried she couldn't get comfortable. The events of the day haunted her conscious mind, keeping her from sleep. She wanted nothing more than to banish all thought and just sleep for a month. The steamed milk she'd had while talking with Bonnie was supposed to have helped, but she felt as awake and restless as she had before drinking it.

Her sympathy for Mae's occasional bouts of insomnia multiplied exponentially as the minutes ticked by. She wished she dared turn on a light, but she didn't want to risk waking Liz. Much as she felt she'd lucked out by being assigned Liz as a bunkmate, she desperately wished her friend had chosen to spend tonight with Travis. It would have made the time pass so much more quickly if only Stephanie could turn on some music or read a book. Anything to take her mind off of reality.

She glanced at the bedside chronometer. Green numbers glared at her—0221. She sighed, punched her pillow a couple of times, and rolled over yet again. Her mind spun and nothing she did could calm it. Every time she tried to focus on something, her thoughts inevitably returned to the day her father had died. Reliving it as she had had brought the old memories into sharp relief. She couldn't shake the image of him as he'd left the house that morning, promising to come home right after work.

Then she remembered something he'd said to her in a dream not very long ago. They had stood together on the family sailboat and he'd looked sad but also strong and resolute. _"I only ever broke one promise in my life. I'm not going to break one again—especially not a promise to you,"_ he'd said, wrapping his arm around her. It had almost felt as if he were really there, alive and warm and holding her.

Stephanie shifted position again, physically breaking her train of thought through the movement. _I don't need to go there,_ she told herself firmly. There was no way for her to judge the passage of time other than by rolling over and checking the chronometer, so she did. She sighed heavily. 0242. _Shit._ She laid back and stared out of the small port at the passing stars.

_I can't do this anymore._

Quietly she pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. She padded barefoot to her locker and withdrew her robe. She slipped quickly out of the room, crossing mental fingers that the brief exposure of light from the corridor hadn't disturbed her bunkmate. But moments passed and she heard nothing on the other side of the door. With a nod of satisfaction, she donned her robe and headed off to the mess hall.

_I should go to sickbay,_ she thought as she walked along _Enterprise_'s silent corridors. _Phlox would give me somethingbut Phlox would ask why I needed it so, no. Not going there. Maybe another mug of warm milk will do the trick, though, eh?_ her mind continued, unconvinced and unconvincing. _At least it'll kill some time._

To her surprise the mess hall wasn't deserted as she'd expected it to be at that hour. A lone figure sat at a table by the window, staring out into space. The lights in the room were dim but she knew immediately who it was—Ian. She hesitated briefly in the doorway, not wanting to disturb his solitude, but neither did she plan on leaving without what she'd come there to get.

She picked up a mug and set it under the drinks dispenser. A score of alternate drink possibilities passed through her mind, but she stuck with her original plan. "Steamed milk," she ordered quietly. As the mug began to fill, she glanced over to see if he'd heard her, only to catch him looking at her, then quickly looking away. _Okay,_ she thought, _he doesn't want to talk._

Stephanie waited for her drink in silence. When it was ready, she took it from the pad and went to leave.

With one hand raised and ready to open the door, she hesitated. She really had intended to go, but for whatever reason she instead lowered her hand slowly and once again turned to look at the lone figure by the window. _He doesn't want to be bothered,_ her mind insisted.

_Then why did he come to the armory when he was off duty yesterday morning?_ another part of her countered.

It was an argument she couldn't win without also losing, so she gave up trying. _We don't have to talk,_ she said to herself as she crossed the room. _But that doesn't mean I can't at least keep him company._

She reached the table without Ian ever looking her way, although she was certain he could see her dim reflection in the port as she approached. She sat across from him and set her mug on the table, wrapping her hands around it and staring out at the stars.

They sat that way for several minutes—long enough for Stephanie's steamed milk to cool to a comfortable drinking level. She sipped at it and wished it at least had a couple of espresso shots in it, even though that would have defeated the purpose entirely.

When Ian finally broke the silence, she was surprised. She'd begun to think she would actually finish her drink and leave without either of them ever saying a word.

"What was it like?" he asked, continuing to stare out the port.

"What like?"

"The crossing."

"Oh." It wasn't what she'd guessed and she was glad she hadn't answered too readily. "The exchange itself? Or do you meanafter that?"

"From what I heard, after a person made the crossing they could go anywhere. Time, place, whatever."

"Wellyeah. I think so. I mean, that seemed to be what happened to me." She wasn't sure why he wanted to know. It certainly couldn't have been what had brought him to the armory the previous morning. That had been before they'd encountered the ship of non-corporeal aliens.

He met her reflected gaze. "Whereor when did you go?"

She considered the question carefully even though it sounded straightforward enough. There had to be more in it than simply curiosity, otherwise this conversation could have waited for daytime.

"I went home," she answered at last.

"Home," he echoed. He looked away and focused again on the stars.

"Yeah. I saw my sister." She watched his face across the table and in the window. It was a strange double image, but the bitterness was clear in both. Stephanie made a decision. "Then I went back."

"Back?"

"Back in timeto the day my father was killed."

Ian started ever so slightly and Stephanie suspected she was on the right track. His next words, however, made her doubt.

"You didn't go back to that alien ship? The one where The one that collapsed while you were still on it?"

"Gods no. I wouldn't relive that day for anything," Stephanie responded with quiet vehemence. "That day seriously sucked."

Ian chuckled once mirthlessly. "Yeah. I can see how it would," he said ironically. Finally he turned to face her directly. "But if you had gone there" He hesitated.

She waited, but he didn't go on. "If I'd gone there what?" she prompted eventually.

"Isn't it" He struggled to find the right words to explain what he was thinking. "Wouldn't you If you'd gone to that day, maybe you could have changed it. Made it so you got out before"

"Before I died?" she finished for him. Ian nodded and Stephanie shook her head. "I couldn't."

"Couldn't what? Go there? But you said—"

"I couldn't have changed anything." She stared down into her mug and watched several tiny bubbles in the foam pop as the liquid continued to cool. "Why do you think I went back to the day my dad died?" she said, looking back up at Ian. "That's not a day I ever wanted to relive, either, except to change how it ended. But I couldn't. I was there, sure, but I couldn't do anything differently than I had the first time."

Ian's expression didn't change, but she could see disappointment in his pale eyes.

"The crossing wasn't any kind of blessing, Ian," she said softly. "It was an invasion. Maybe some of the other crewmembers who were taken will tell you otherwise. I know Commander Tucker seems to have had a great time on his visits home, so to speak, but I'm also pretty sure he doesn't have the baggage you or I are stuck with. I could be wrong, but I don't think so."

Ian was silent for several seconds, digesting and assimilating everything she'd said. He knew his next question was none of his business, but it didn't stop him asking. "How old were you when your dad died?"

"Fifteen."

"I was twelve. There was an accident when he was out on the range."

"The range?" Stephanie asked, brow furrowed. She'd known his father was dead, but the cause wasn't the sort of information kept in Starfleet's general personnel records. "What? You mean the firing range?"

Ian gave another humorless laugh. "No. He was a cattle rancher. When I say the range, _that's_ the kind I mean."

"Oh." This was news to her. She knew Ian was from Alberta, but it had never occurred to her to connect him with the many ranching families in that province.

"Never would have guessed, would you?" he said dryly, correctly surmising what she was thinking.

"Honestly, no. You just don't seem like a farm kind of guy."

"I'm not. Why do you think I left?" Now that he'd begun talking, it was as if a dam had burst. Ian found himself telling her things he'd only ever told Ari—and Ari was his best friend. "I wasn't cut out for ranching. That was pretty obvious really early on." He looked down, then out the window, then back at Stephanie. "My dad was a great guy, but he knew I'd never make it in his line of work. But it was okay because he always had my older brother. He's a born cattleman. He and my mom can handle the place just fine without me; they've been doing it since I left, and that was when I was seventeen. Hell, I was so eager to get out of there that I didn't even apply to the universities in Edmonton or Calgary or anywhere in Alberta, even though UA Edmonton has a great chem program."

"You went to NSU Halifax, right?" Stephanie vaguely recalled something of the sort although she couldn't remember where she'd learned it. "They're supposed have a great chemistry program, too."

"They do. And I got a scholarship and everything," he answered with a mix of pride and bitterness.

It was Stephanie's turn to laugh mirthlessly. "I was into a different kind of chemistry when I started college." He gave her an inquisitive look and she mimed a cocktail glass in one hand.

"Ah," said Ian. "That explains a couple of things."

"Only a couple?" joked Stephanie. "Try harder."

Ian smiled slightly. He appreciated her honesty and sense of humor on most occasions, and both were particularly welcome just then.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Both found it a pleasant change from the tension that had filled the air when Stephanie had first sat down. She continued to drink her warm milk until the mug was empty. Then she looked into its vacant depths in mild annoyance. "Guess that's my cue to try and get to sleepagain," she said, her voice laden with doubt about her possible success.

"That's probably a good idea," agreed Ian. They both stood somewhat reluctantly and headed to the door. "I" Ian began then hesitated. "Thanks."

Stephanie looked at him, a melancholy expression on her face. "You're welcome. See you in the morning?" she said as they stepped out of the mess hall and into the corridor.

"See you in a few hours," he replied more specifically.

"Ugh. You're right. Let's hope we both spend the intervening time in brief but blessed sleep."

"Amen. Good night."

"Good _morning_," Stephanie countered wryly, and Ian chuckled.

They parted, each heading to her or his own cabin. Both found their roommates sound asleep, fortunately undisturbed by the problems plaguing the minds of the two armory ensigns.

Stephanie and Ian slipped into their bunks and before long each of them drifted off into dreamless and untroubled sleep.

*****  
End Log 2:21  
_Completed 25 Nov 03  
Continued in Log 2:22_


	22. Log 2:22

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:22**: (Takes place between _Judgment_ and _Horizon_.)  
_Rating [R - language]_  
**Author's Note**: Ensign Ari Cohn belongs to Squeaky Lightfoot and is used with her kind permission.

*****

Trip sat on Malcolm's bunk with a pillow behind his back against the bulkhead, and his legs stretched out in front of him. The datapad in his hands held the Engineering duty roster for the next few weeks. He gave it one last look before deciding it was ready to be handed in tomorrow morning. Before announcing that he was done, however, he took a moment to steal a glance at his partner, hard at work on his own duty roster. Malcolm sat at his desk, back straight, expression studious as he worked, completely unaware of Trip's observation.

It was nearly a full two days since _Enterprise_ had left Klingon space, and Trip was thrilled to have the whole unpleasant experience behind him. The days they'd spent waiting for word on their kidnapped captain had been some of the longest of his life. Of course, the Klingons insisted they had rightfully arrested Jon for crimes against the Empire. Trip didn't give a damn what they said. In his opinion it was all garbage. Jon had done the Klingons more good than harm in all Starfleet's dealings with them. _And more favors than they deserve,_ he thought acidly.

When diplomacy had failed to retrieve the captain, the crew had turned to less formal channels. Those channels in turn eventually lead Malcolm on a rescue mission to the dilithium mines of Rura Penthe. The few hours when he was out of contact had set Trip's already tense stomach turning. But his relief upon the safe return of both his lover and his captain set his world to rights again. Trip smiled, remembering that feeling.

"Have I told you lately that you're my hero?" he announced suddenly, breaking the long silence.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow and pinned him with a look from across the room. "Are you drunk?"

"No," Trip assured him, laughing. He sat up and set his datapad to one side. "I'm just feeling" He sought the word that would best describe the mix of warmth, joy, relief, and love that bubbled inside him. "happy."

"Happy?" echoed Malcolm, at a loss. "Wellgood."

Trip shook his head, knowing he wasn't expressing himself well. "I'm thinking about how you got the Captain out of that frozen hellhole," he tried to clarify. "I'm thinking about that and about how damn lucky _Enterprise_ is to have you." He rose and crossed the room to stand behind Malcolm. He rested his hands on Malcolm's shoulders. "How lucky I am to have you," Trip concluded more softly, then leaned down and kissed his lover's cheek.

Malcolm turned his chair around and Trip moved back to give him room. "I'm the lucky one, you know," Malcolm said quietly.

"You can think that if you want. I know what's really what." Trip stepped closer, grasped Malcolm's hands, and gently pulled him to his feet. There was a sparkle in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around the shorter man's waist, then leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

Malcolm returned the kiss eagerly, wrapping his arms around Trip's back and pulling him closer. He was still a bit bemused by Trip's sudden outpouring of emotion, but he certainly didn't object to it.

They continued to hold one another after they broke the kiss, each man enjoying the quiet warmth of the other. Several moments passed before Malcolm took a reluctant step back. "You should get going," he said. His voice was less encouraging than his words. "You don't want to be late for dinner with the Captain and T'Pol."

"Yes, I do," contradicted Trip, pulling him in and kissing him once more.

Malcolm wanted to let himself melt into his lover's embrace. It should be so easy. Simply relax and let go. Forget all about responsibilities. Forget about everything.

He pushed away again. His heart gave a little lurch at the look of disappointment on Trip's face. "No, you really don't. At least, you don't want to be as late as I'd make you if you stayed here any longer," Malcolm amended, trying to sound firm yet lighthearted at the same time.

Trip sighed resignedly. "I suppose you're right," he unwillingly agreed. "But I'm really not hungry for dinner right now."

"It's the price you pay for being chief engineer on Starfleet's flagship." Malcolm put his hands on Trip's shoulders and Trip allowed himself to be turned around so he was facing the door of the cabin. Malcolm guided him out past the desk. He leaned in and murmured seductively in Trip's ear. "I'll see you later for dessert. Now off you go." He gave him a little push.

"I'll save plenty of room," Trip replied, equally enticingly. He left with renewed determination and the knowledge that he had something very sweet to look forward to after dinner.

Once Trip had gone, Malcolm sat heavily on his bunk. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, but his tension failed to drain with it. He wasn't looking forward to dessert, despite his own offer. Ever since his return from the crossing with the non-corporeal alien, he'd been reluctant to get too close to Trip. No matter how often or vehemently he reminded himself that he loved Trip and Trip loved him, his visit to his old London flat had left him with open wounds he'd thought had scarred over years ago.

Certainly he and Trip had made love since the incident, but Malcolm's heart hadn't been in it. It was a betrayal of Trip, and Malcolm hated himself for it. The greatest betrayal came from the fact that he knew how to fix the problem—he was simply too cowardly to do it.

_How did this evening go from pleasant to perturbed so bloody quickly?_ he wondered unhappily.

Malcolm sighed again, the sound becoming a frustrated growl before it was done. _I've got to tell him,_ he thought. _I should have told him when he asked. Too many years of being guarded and stealthy, I suppose._ He shook his head at himself. _He's bound to notice something's wrong soon. He's not stupid. I've got to tell him—I _will_ tell him—before I screw things up. I don't think I could handle it if I did that._

He sat in silence for several minutes, thinking, debating. Now that he'd made the decision to tell Trip about where he'd gone and what he'd almost relived, he felt a small weight had lifted. Unfortunately, the relief wasn't quite enough to spur him to immediate action.

_After the New Year. I'll tell him after that. There's no reason to spoil the holiday with unpleasant news,_ he rationalized. It was a copout, but it was as far as he could go at that moment. Reeds had always been men of their word. Malcolm would tell Trip the whole story after New Year's Eve.

*****

Stephanie took a sip of her water and set the glass back on the table. She speared a bite of chicken vindaloo with her fork and put it in her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she eyed her dinner companions. "So," she said when her mouth was again empty, "is everyone ready for New Year's Eve?"

Mae laughed. "Are you kidding?"

"It's only two weeks away."

"It's a whole two weeks away," the engineer countered.

"What's there to be ready for?" Travis asked Stephanie. "Are you part of the evening's entertainment or something?"

"No," she replied emphatically. "That's Bonnie's department and, trust me, it's better that way."

Liz finished a bite of salad before speaking. "Oh, I don't know. I bet you play a pretty mean guitar." She smirked knowingly.

"Less 'mean', more 'generally unkind'," Stephanie contradicted.

"Where is Bonnie anyway?" wondered Travis. "I know she's not on bridge duty tonight."

"She's rehearsing." Stephanie looked pointedly at Mae. "Like I said, it's only two weeks away."

"What?" demanded Mae. "Am I supposed to do something about that? You're the one who keeps reminding me that time is still linear as we humans perceive it, so we're kind of stuck with the whole two week thing."

"That's not what I'm getting at."

"Well then maybe you better spell it out for me. Apparently I'm especially thick tonight."

Liz chuckled. "Just tonight?" she quipped.

"Very funny," replied Mae dryly, knowing Liz was only teasing her.

Stephanie persisted. "I just wondered if you were coming to the big party in the Rec. Center or the smaller one the engineering team is planning," she inquired in an overly casual manner.

"I haven't decided. I'll probably be at the big party since Bonnie's singing. Moral support, solidarity, you know."

"That's cool." Stephanie shot a glance at Liz who smiled back. She and Travis both knew what Stephanie was driving at, even if Mae hadn't caught on yet. "You going to dress up?"

"I don't know."

"I am."

"Me, too," agreed Liz. She looked at Travis inquisitively, encouragingly.

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "It's nice to get out of uniform once in a while."

Stephanie almost made a suggestive wisecrack, but stopped herself. _No. Must stay on task._ She turned back to Mae. "I figure we have precious few opportunities to dress up and get fluffy, so we might as well take advantage of them."

"I think I'll pass on the 'fluffy' part," joked Travis.

"Oh I don't know." Liz eyed him critically. "I have an idea or two. How do you feel about Georgian fashions?"

He looked at her, totally lost. "Huh?"

"King George the Third of England," she clarified. She tried hard to keep her expression neutral as she continued. "Not quite as frilly as the Louis the Fourteenth era in France, but notable for long coats, lace cuffs, and cravats. Oh and wigs."

He saw the grin she couldn't quite hide and quickly realized she was teasing. "Maybe some other time," he said, his brown eyes alight with mirth.

"Are you sure? I bet the quartermaster could whip up something."

Stephanie cut in then. While she found the chatter amusing, she had an agenda and she intended to stick to it. "So, Mae, you gonna dress up?"

Mae's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Why not?"

The engineer knew her friend was up to something, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. She grew cagey. "I don't know. Maybe I'll just stay in that night. Turn in early. Read a book. Just have a quiet night on my own."

"You can't!" exclaimed Liz abruptly. She was in on Stephanie's plot; she'd helped gather information to fuel it.

Mae looked at her. "I can't?"

Stephanie saw the panicked look in her bunkmate's eyes and realized Liz had no cover for her sudden outburst. "Of course you can't!" she said, redirecting Mae's attention. "It's the big winter holiday! I remember you telling me how much fun your family always had on New Year's Eve when you were growing up. I know you went home for it when we were in Starfleet training together. You'll just be bored and homesick if you spend it alone."

"Okay. What the hell are you guys up to?"

"Up to?" echoed Liz too innocently. "Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"Just say you're coming to the big New Year's party and that you're going to dress up," Travis advised sagely. "They won't leave you alone until you do."

"Too bad," Mae said. "I want to know what you're plotting before I agree to anything."

She had a determined glint in her eyes that Stephanie recognized all too well. Still, she gave it one more try. "You just need to come. Moral support for Bonnie," she added. "Like you said."

"I don't have to dress up to show moral support."

"It'll be fun," insisted Liz.

"It'll be fun when you tell me what the hell's going on," argued Mae.

Stephanie and Liz exchanged a look. Liz shrugged; Stephanie nodded and turned back to Mae. "Ari's going to be there."

There was a moment of silence. "Ah," said Mae finally. "Thanks, but I don't need you guys planning my love life."

"We're not!" protested Stephanie. Then she backed down a bit. "Or...just a little."

"Yeah, sure. Like you weren't planning anything when you tried to set me up with that guy from stores back in San Francisco? Or that test pilot candidate? Or Ruby from the 602 Club? Or—"

"Okay! Okay." Stephanie finally admitted defeat. "I give up."

"Good. Ari and I are fine on our own. We don't need your 'help'." Mae included Liz and Travis in her statement. "Neither of us has any specific plans or agenda. I think it's safe to say we're both just fine playing things slow and casual right now." She looked around at her friends and a moment of weakness claimed her. "Unless you've heard something different?"

Liz was quick to put her at ease. "No. None of us has heard anything."

"We just think you two would be so great together," Stephanie added. "And since you're heading that direction already"

Travis picked that moment to toss in his two cents. "They decided to stick their noses in where they didn't belong."

Mae smiled, pleased with the looks of consternation his words elicited from Liz and Stephanie. "Thank you, but no thank you. If I need help, I'll let you know."

*****

The door chimed and Doctor Douglas looked up from his computer in surprise. He didn't have any appointments scheduled until after 1200 hours and it was only 0930. "Come in," he called.

The door slid open, revealing Ensign Young.

"Ian," Douglas said in surprise. "I didn't expect to see you today. Come in. Sit down."

Young entered the office a little reluctantly. "I can come back later if this is a bad time."

"Not at all. Please, have a seat."

"Actually, I'll just go. It can wait until my usual session."

"No, no. Please. Sit."

"Thanks." Young sat on the couch and tried to look nonchalant. It was a wasted effort. His tension was evident in everything from his facial expression to his very presence in Douglas's office.

"Is there something I can do for you?" the psychiatrist asked kindly. He knew there had to be something, otherwise Young would have waited until his scheduled session on Friday.

"II wanted to talk about what happened in the armory."

Douglas waited for him to continue. Several seconds passed in silence.

"After the explosion, I mean," Young finally went on.

"All right."

Another lengthy pause ensued as Young fought the urge to get up and leave. _Don't be such a chickenshit,_ he ordered himself. "Isaw something. Well, some_one_while I wasgone." He cursed internally at the hesitation and doubt in his voice.

"Did you recognize this person you saw?" inquired Douglas calmly.

"Yeah. It was my dad." He paused, once again disinclined to go on. He wondered for the umpteenth time if he'd made a mistake coming here. "He died when I was a kid."

"I see." Douglas sat back and laced his fingers together across his stomach. "How did you feel when you saw him?"

"I I don't know."

"That's all right. Why do you think you saw him? Do you have an idea as to the reason he was there?"

"Because he's dead," stated Young bluntly, his defenses suddenly up. "I was dead. Who else would I see?"

Douglas shrugged. "You might have seen any number of people. There's documentation available on all sorts of near-death experiences and they comprise a wide variety of sightings and other phenomena."

"Oh." Young relaxed marginally. "He—my dad—he said something."

"Yes?" Douglas continued to wait. His patience was almost as renowned as Doctor Phlox's, and he exercised it now. Experience told him that Young would only side step any leading suggestions, so Douglas allowed the ensign to choose the direction in which he wished to go.

Another long silence filled the room. Young stared at the shelf of books on one bulkhead, reading the titles but not retaining anything he read. Eventually, he said, "He told me I wasn't done yet." It was a heavy admission for him; it wasn't what he'd wanted to hear from his father. "He said I had to go back and finish what I was doing."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"How did I feel? Like" He sought the exact phrase that would most accurately describe how he'd felt. "I felt like a loser. I felt like he'd just sucker-punched me right in the gut, eh? I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say to that? Finish what? Done with what? I guess he couldn't be bothered to tell me that part," he concluded bitterly.

"Have you considered that maybe he didn't know? Or perhaps it's that you know in your heart what he meant, but your conscious mind hasn't yet made that connection."

Young had considered both possibilities, but neither had provided him with any answers so he'd conveniently ignored them. "Yeah," he grumbled reluctantly. What he really wanted was for someone to hand him the answers; he'd never been big on introspection. "At least he could have given me a hint."

"You're an intelligent person," Douglas said. "I suspect you'll figure it out without any hints."

"Thanks, but I wouldn't bet on it." Young slumped back on the small couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "He could have meant pretty much anything. There's a shitload of stuff I haven't done."

"We all have unfinished business in our lives. I can't imagine anyone has ever completed everything he or she wanted to do before passing on."

"Then why come back?" asked Young disconsolately. "If I can't finish everything anyway, why bother?"

"Why do you think?" countered Douglas.

Young let out a noise somewhere between a snarl and a sigh. "You can't ever just give a straight answer, can you? You have to answer every question with another question."

"It comes with the job, I'm afraid." The ship's counselor smiled apologetically.

"Nice job." Young's voice was flat with sarcasm.

Douglas leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, his fingers still laced loosely together. "If someone could hand you all the answers to every question, where would be the challenge? We'd all get bored pretty quickly, don't you think?"

Young grunted noncommittally. "I suppose, but it sure would make things easier if once in a while someone would just throw you a bone," he said pointedly.

"I'm fresh out of bones. I gave my last one to Porthos."

This made Young chuckle. "Yeah, all right." He sat up straighter, his hands in his lap. He stared at them for several moments, thinking. "Maybe" he began, then paused. "Maybe I can't do everything I want to do with my life, but there's got to be something I _can_ do. Otherwise why tell me I wasn't done? There's got to be something that needs finishing or—" He stopped abruptly.

"Or?" prompted Douglas.

"Or something." Young had been about to say "fixing", but he wasn't ready to go down that road yet, not even with Douglas, who was sworn to keep everything his patients told him in the strictest confidence. No matter how many oaths the psychiatrist had taken, Young doubted he could ethically keep silent if he learned an officer was screwing a crewman.

_But is it really my relationship with Michael that needs fixing?_ he thought. _I know it's totally fucked up, but is that what Dad meant? Or is this about me and Hoshi?_ His heart and mind were in a muddle about it all. He was sure he'd completely destroyed any chance of being with Hoshi ever again. She'd never mentioned what she'd seen between him and Rostov that day in sickbay, but she'd been too calm and understanding when he'd broken up with her shortly thereafter. Despite all that, a part of him refused to give up hope that there could still be something between them.

_Hoshi?_ he wondered again. _Or Michael?_ His thoughts turned to the muscular, good-looking engineering crewman. _Crewman._

Douglas regarded Young curiously for several moments. It was obvious that the ensign was thinking hard about something troubling. What it was, though, was unclear. Douglas suspected it was more than Young had told him.

"Ian?"

"Huh?" Young started. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "Oh. Thanks, Doc." He rose and headed to the door.

"Come back anytime if you need to talk more," Douglas said before he could escape.

"Right. Thanks again."

Douglas watched him slip out into the corridor, then continued to stare at the closed door for several seconds. "What is it with armory personnel on this ship?" he wondered aloud. "They have this habit of leaving in a hurry." He shook his head. There was only so much he could do for someone when that someone wasn't entirely honest with him. He only hoped Young would confide in him before anything untoward happened.

*****

Jon reclined on his bunk, comfortable in a pair of sweat pants and a loose, gray t-shirt. His brief stay on Rura Penthe had left its mark on him, but all physical signs had faded. The only indication that his time in the Klingon penal colony still bothered him was the temperature in his cabin. He'd set it a few degrees warmer than standard. He knew it was only psychological, but he felt the incredible cold of the frozen planet continuing to ache in his bones. _I must be getting old,_ he thought a little wistfully.

Porthos barked once and looked up at him expectantly.

"No," Jon said, "I don't have any cheese."

The beagle whined a little.

"Come up here and see for yourself."

Giving another bark, Porthos leaped up onto the bunk. He walked all around his master, waddling awkwardly on the soft mattress and sniffing suspiciously. Finally convinced there were indeed no cheesy treats to be found, he flopped down at Jon's side with a mournful moan and rested his head on Jon's leg.

"Don't try to fool me. I know you're spoiled rotten."

Porthos cocked his head and eyed him accusingly.

Jon could feel his resolve weakening. "No," he repeated, wondering if it was for himself or the dog.

Another baleful look from the beagle was all it took.

"All right." Jon rose from the bunk and went to the small refrigeration unit—one of the few luxuries he was awarded as ship's captain. Before he could open it, however, the door chimed. He glanced at Porthos. "Sorry, boy. Snack time has to wait."

If anything, the dog looked even more desolate as he rested his chin on his front paws.

Jon shook his head and chuckled. "Come in," he called to the person waiting outside his door.

T'Pol entered, looking prim and official as always.

"Sub-commander," said Jon, assuming from the datapad in her hand that this wasn't a social call. "What is it?"

"I've reviewed the departmental duty rosters for the first half of January," she replied evenly, handing over the pad. "They all appear to be in order."

"Thanks." When she neither continued speaking nor departed, he asked, "Was there something else?" In Jon's admittedly human-centric opinion she looked mildly annoyed.

"Are you aware of thefestivities that are being planned for the thirty-first of this month?"

"The New Year's Eve parties? Sure." Jon smiled and T'Pol's expression grew even more disapproving.

"I presume by your reaction that you are in favor of them."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He knew it couldn't just be the idea of a party. There had been several small gatherings over the months since _Enterprise_ had left space-dock; there'd even been a New Year's Eve party last year. He was curious why T'Pol suddenly had an issue with the idea.

T'Pol regarded him. After spending nearly two years with Jonathan Archer, she knew better than to be surprised by his nonchalance over this matter. That didn't preclude her being concerned, however. "Under normal circumstances I wouldn't consider it a problem, but taking into account your newly acquired status as a fugitive from the Klingon Empire, I think it would be more appropriate to save the celebrations for a time when we're in a more secure location."

"We have plenty of time to reach a 'more secure location'," Jon pointed out. "And we can't exactly postpone New Year's Eve."

T'Pol pursed her lips. _Enterprise_'s current course would leave them in open space without even an uninhabited solar system nearby at the time of Earth's New Year. She and the captain both knew it. They would be out of reach of any help should they encounter revenge-hungry Klingons.

He could see the objection in her eyes and spoke up before she could voice it. "How long has it been since the crew had shore leave?" he asked.

"The last opportunity for the crew to take shore leave was during our stay at Dekendi Three."

"Not too long ago," admitted Jon, "but what are the prospects of another shore leave within the nextthree months, let's say?"

"Unlikely."

"Then I think we can afford to spend one night just relaxing and having fun, don't you?"

His expression and tone of voice were enough to cause T'Pol to cease her debate. It was a look she knew too well. Were it a graver situation she might still have considered arguing, but she had learned to pick her battles with _Enterprise_'s human captain. She would let this one go.

T'Pol inclined her head. "Very well. Good night, Captain."

"Good night."

The moment she was gone, Porthos sat up on the bunk and barked. Jon looked at him, knowing exactly what the beagle wanted.

"Who says dogs don't have much short-term memory?" he muttered in amusement, pulling a small plate of cheese from the fridge. "Just don't tell Phlox."

Porthos simply wagged his tail happily.

*****

Less than a week after her dinner with Stephanie, Liz, and Travis, Mae sincerely regretted her hasty dismissal of their offer of assistance. She'd decided on a plan for New Year's Eve. That had been the easy part. She just hadn't decided if she was going to ask Ari to join in those plans.

_Should I invite him to the party in Engineering?_ she wondered for the twentieth time that evening. His presence would be especially noticeable there and she didn't really feel comfortable with the idea of her entire department ogling the two of them. Somehow that was even worse than facing the rest of the crew at the main party in the Rec. Center. At least there neither one's presence would be unusual.

_I wonder how the Commander and Lieutenant Reed are handling it?_ she wondered suddenly. Reed wasn't part of the Engineering team, but Tucker would naturally have invited him. _Right?_ She wasn't sure.

On a whim she hailed Stephanie.

"I'm kind of busy, Mae," Stephanie replied hurriedly through the comm. "What's up?"

"What party are Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker going to for New Year's?" Mae blurted without preamble.

Silence fell before her friend answered. "_What?_ I have no clue. Why would I know that?"

Mae couldn't be sure, but she thought Stephanie sounded a bit odd. Her tone was sharp, almost defensive. "Sorry," Mae apologized quickly. "I just thought the lieutenant might have said something" She shook her head even though the connection was audio-only. "Never mind. Dumb question for a dumb problem."

"I'll take your word for it. Was that it?"

"Yeah. Sorry I bugged you. See you later."

Mae closed the comm and stood there for several more indecisive seconds.

_Should I...? Maybe?_ She made up her mind.

Mae took a moment to steel herself before opening another comm line. "Lawless to Cohn."

There was a moment of pause before he replied. When he did, he sounded slightly out of breath. "Cohn. Go ahead."

Mae hesitated. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No. I was just on the treadmill."

"Oh," said Mae quickly. "I'm sorry. I'll call you back later."

"No. It's okay," Ari hastily assured her.

"No, no. It can wait. I'll just call you later."

"Uh...okay." He checked the time. "I should be done at about 1800 hours."

"Right on. Bye."

"Wait!" he said before she could close the connection. "Are you coming to the big party on New Year's Eve?"

Mae was stymied. It was almost as if he'd read her mind. "Yeah, but later. Like 2300. I figured I'd stop by Engineering first. You know. Make my cameo appearance."

"Oh. Sure. I'll" He paused, his heart racing from more than his run. "I'll see you in the Rec. Center at 2300, then."

"It's a date," confirmed Mae, surprising herself and Ari with her choice of words. "Bye."

She immediately closed the comm and sat heavily on her bunk. She looked at her hands. They were shaking. She tucked them under her legs in annoyance. "God damn," she declared to the empty room. Then she grinned. "God damn!" she repeated more cheerfully. "I have a date for New Year's Eve."

In the ship's gym Ari closed his end of the comm and returned to his treadmill.

"What was that about?" asked Ian from the next treadmill over.

"Nothing," Ari answered. If his bunkmate hadn't overheard enough to figure it out on his own, he certainly wasn't going to share it. _Although it does remind me of something wanted to ask Ian,_ he thought. He started up the treadmill and waited until he was at a comfortable jog before speaking again. "So what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Huh? I don't know. Why?"

"I just wondered. Are you going to the Engineering party?"

"No," answered Ian emphatically. "Are you nuts?"

"What?" said Ari defensively.

"I'm not in Engineering," his bunkmate replied as if he were speaking to a rather dim-witted child.

"You work with them sometimes."

"Yeah, when _they're_ in the _armory_."

"I just thought you might want to spend the evening with Mi–"

Ian cut him off sharply. "Shut up!"

"Ian, there's no one else here. No one's going to hear us."

"You don't know that," argued the armory ensign in a tense, hushed tone.

Ari shook his head. "You're paranoid, you know."

"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get me."

Ari stopped his treadmill abruptly. He rested his hands on the sidebars and looked at his best friend. "I really hope you're joking."

Ian glanced over and smirked. "You're so fucking gullible, man," he said snidely.

"And you're so funny," Ari replied flatly. He returned to his workout in silence.

Ian was perfectly happy for the quiet. He wasn't in a talkative mood and the last thing he cared to discuss in an open place where anyone could walk in at any moment was whether or not he would be spending New Year's Eve with Michael. _Of course I can't spend the night with him,_ he thought angrily. _Wouldn't that be just perfect? Midnight rolls around, everyone's kissing everyone else, and we can't. Yeah, that sounds fun._

He frowned as he jogged. He wasn't looking forward to the holiday celebration. Michael would be at the party in Engineering, and Ian would be in the Rec. Center. He knew Ari wouldn't let him spend the evening alone in their cabin no matter how much he argued. His bunkmate had a serious stubborn streak at times. Ian would go just to appease him, and then slip away while Ari wasn't looking. He figured he could probably survive an hour or so of merriment and conviviality.

_As long as I've got beer, I'll manage. Oh yeah,_ he thought caustically. _It's gonna be such a great evening._

*****

The door to Stephanie's cabin chimed and then opened. Bonnie peered into the dimly lit interior, noting the several candles ranged around the room.

"Can I come in?" she asked uncertainly.

Stephanie rose from where she knelt on the floor and approached her. "Of course. I asked you to come over."

Bonnie still hesitated. "It's just that you look like you're in the middle of something."

"Nope." The blonde woman shook her head, causing random curls to bounce. "I'm almost done." She reached out a hand and gently pulled Bonnie far enough into the room to make the door shut automatically.

"Are you supposed to have candles burning?"

"Don't worry. Neither of us will get in trouble."

"If you say so." Bonnie was dubious. She'd always been a sucker for candlelight, so she couldn't deny she liked the atmosphere. Her only concern was that open flames were prohibited as a rule.

Stephanie smiled. "It's the Winter Solstice," she said, hoping to allay her lover's concerns. "Hence the candles."

"Is it really? I'd completely lost track of the date!" Bonnie exclaimed. She took Stephanie's hand, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. "Happy Solstice, in that case."

"Happy Solstice. Have a seat."

"I can't believe I forgot Solstice," Bonnie went on as Stephanie led her carefully around the candles on the floor. When she was safely at Stephanie's bunk, she sat down, pulling off her shoes so she could put up her feet.

Stephanie noticed the small courtesy and smirked. "So considerate," she teased.

"My mother taught me never to put my shoes on the bed," replied Bonnie. "I think it had something to do with all the mud and crap I tended to carry into the house on them."

Stephanie chuckled. "Smart woman, your mother."

"She is. She'd give me a hell of a lecture for forgetting Solstice. I mean, it wasn't a huge deal when I was growing up, but it was definitely a night we recognized. You can't really ignore it when you live as far north as Inuvik." Bonnie realized Stephanie was staring at her with an inscrutable smile on her face. "Sorry. I'm babbling," the helmsman concluded, feeling cheerful but a little embarrassed. "So, you said you were almost finished withwhatever you're doing?"

"Mm-hmm. Almost." Stephanie went to her locker and opened it. She removed a small cylindrical package, and sat down next to Bonnie. "This is for you."

"You didn't have to—"

"I know. I did it because I wanted to. Here." She pressed the gift into Bonnie's hands.

"Thank you."

"It's nothing huge or Earth-shaking," Stephanie said a little shyly. She shrugged self-consciously. "I just wanted to do something to include you in my celebration."

"Thank you," Bonnie repeated sincerely. She stared at the package for a moment, almost as if she were hesitant to discover what it contained.

"Well open it!" laughed Stephanie.

"Right." Bonnie tore it open to find a layer of plain white tissue paper underneath the bright green wrapping. This she took by one end and allowed its contents to unroll into her open hand. When the gift was finally revealed, Bonnie inhaled sharply. In her hand was a short pillar candle in swirls of red, orange, yellow, and white. "It's beautiful!"

"It's you. A representation of you," explained Stephanie. She had been worried about how Bonnie might react, but so far she seemed to like her gift. _Now will she like the rest of it?_ Stephanie wondered. She braced herself for possible rejection before going on. "The white is for truth and purity," she began. "The yellow is charm, confidence, that sort of thing." Bonnie nodded her understanding and Stephanie continued. "The orange is for attraction—stimulation." She gave her lover a sly look, which she was pleased to see returned in Bonnie's green eyes. "The red is for you, since you're a Taurus. And" One last hesitation and Stephanie took the plunge. "and it's for love. I love you."

The silence that followed was probably only a few seconds, but as far as Stephanie was concerned hours passed while her heart raced and her hands trembled. She had begun to think the two of them would sit there, still and silent, until the candles burned out, when finally Bonnie spoke.

"I don't know what to say," she said softly.

Stephanie's heart felt as though it had fallen through her stomach, past her toes, and down into the deckplating. _Say you love me too!_ her mind shouted. But she didn't voice her thoughts. She'd done her part, taken her risk. Now she had to wait and see what happened.

Bonnie continued to stare at the candle, turning it over in her hands, examining every facet of its color. "I can't burn it," she said simply, almost sadly.

"You can if you're with me—and the time is right," offered Stephanie uncertainly. "I'm not trying to convert you or anything," she added hastily. "Just, you know, if you ever felt like joining me in a ritual, you'd be welcome." Stephanie finished almost breathlessly. It took all her will power to keep her voice from quavering; she still didn't know how Bonnie felt about her declaration of love.

At last, Bonnie looked up and met Stephanie's gaze. "I'd like that. Can we light it now?"

Stephanie nodded. She took the candle and rose to her feet, holding out one hand for Bonnie to join her. Together they knelt where Stephanie had been when Bonnie arrived. Stephanie set the new candle in the center of a circle of smaller ones.

"Here." She handed Bonnie a white taper from a single holder. "Go ahead. Light it."

Wordlessly, Bonnie reached the taper out and held it to the wick of her candle until it burned on its own.

Stephanie paused a moment, collecting and calming her thoughts as best she could before going on. She began her invocation. "Goddess, before you comes one new to your ways, but ever known by you. Bless her with your love and wisdom. Keep her safe in dangerous places. Be manifest in her no matter how far we, your children, wander from our ancient home." She nodded to Bonnie so the other woman would know she was done. 

"Should I say something?" Bonnie asked in quiet uncertainty.

"Only if you want to."

"I want to." Bonnie turned so she was looking directly at Stephanie. She reached up one hand and cupped Stephanie's cheek gently. "Thank you. No one's ever done anything like this for me before. I don't think anyone's ever wanted to, to be honest. It means a lot to me."

She paused and Stephanie waited for the axe to fall. She couldn't help herself saying, "But?"

Bonnie's expression grew puzzled. "What? No." She shook her head slightly. "No 'buts'." She smiled. "I love you, too, Stephanie Nicola Cormack. And there're absolutely no buts about it—except maybe that fine one you're sitting on right now." Then a look a horror suddenly crossed Bonnie's face. "Shit! I probably shouldn't have said that in front of your goddess, should I?"

Stephanie laughed abruptly, relief and mirth making her giddy. All the build up, all the fear and worry had been for nothing. She was positively thrilled. "It's fine," Stephanie assured Bonnie through her giggles. "The cycle of the year is pretty much all about sex, when it comes right down to it. Birth, life, death, rebirth—and a lot of sex in the meantime."

Bonnie laughed too, although a little nervously. "Really? In that case I think I've found a religion I can actually get on board with," she joked, making Stephanie laugh harder.

*****

Donnelly stepped onto the bridge and paused in surprise before approaching the comm station. "You're working late," he said to Sato. He'd not expected to see her tonight.

"It happens sometimes."

"Even when you're the department head?"

She looked up from the communications console for the first time. "_Especially_ when you're the department head," she replied wearily.

"As long as you're not working this late on Sunday," he said as they swapped positions.

"Why?"

"New Year's Eve."

"Oh," said Sato. "I'd almost forgotten about it."

"Forgotten?" Donnelly looked appalled. "How can you forget the best holiday of all?"

She shrugged and leaned against the rail next to the comm station. "It was never a big deal in my family, and it's not like anyone's going to notice if I don't come to the party."

"Now there you're wrong, missy," Donnelly contradicted easily. "If you're not there, who'll make fun of all the drunk people with me?"

"You can do that with Lieutenant Douglas, can't you?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked at her coyly. "Not in Bengali."

Sato chuckled. "I suppose not," she agreed. "Maybe I'll stop by for a little while, just for you." She uncrossed her arms and tiredly pushed away from the rail.

"You'd better."

"We'll see. Good night."

"Night."

As Sato headed to the turbolift she glanced back at the helm. "Night, Hutch," she said in mild surprise. She hadn't even noticed when Ensign Hutchison had arrived and Tanner had departed.

"Good night," the Gamma shift helmsman replied pleasantly.

Sato hailed the turbolift, which opened immediately. She stepped in and rode silently to her deck. It had been a long, long day full of tiny fires that had needed to be put out. Nothing had been catastrophic; there had just been a series of little malfunctions and whatnot that had required her attention.

She reached her cabin and went inside. As the door slipped shut behind her, Hoshi turned the overhead light on to half power. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be able simply to fall into bed and sleep for a week. _But then I'd miss out on joking around with Liam at the New Year's party,_ she thought with a mix of humor and bitterness. She didn't relish the idea of attending the party. She had fond memories of the previous year's festivities, but even the promise of another vocal performance by Bonnie couldn't entice her to care.

She meandered into the lav and started the hot water running in the sink.

_Face it,_ she thought as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. _You don't want to go because you don't want to see Ian there having fun without you._

But would he be? another part of her asked. She had some doubts. She'd heard nothing about him finding someone else since he'd broken it off with her, so it was possible he'd be alone, too. _But what about Rostov?_

While she washed her face and cleaned her teeth, Hoshi considered what she knew and what she guessed. She wasn't entirely certain of what she had seen between Ian and crewman Rostov, but she'd had her suspicions at the time—particularly when Ian had dumped her less than a week later. But other than the brief moment of tenderness she had witnessed, there had been nothing to indicate a greater connection between the two men.

_Anything more would be a serious breach of regulations, and Ian's not the kind to break regulations,_ she concluded firmly.

_Isn't he?_ the pesky little voice in the back of her head asked.

_No, he isn't,_ she insisted. Then doubt crept in. _At least, he isn't usually._

Hoshi shut off the light in the lav, returned to her cabin, and began to change for bed. _What if there _is_ something going on between him and Michael? What would I do? I'd have to tell the Captainwouldn't I?_ But she was plagued with uncertainty. As a command officer, it was her duty to report such breaches of Starfleet regs, but as a rejected girlfriend, she didn't know if she could do it.

_The fact is I still care about him. I want him back, and anything I do to sabotage his relationship with Michael—_

Assuming it exists, the analytical part of her interjected.

_—would destroy any possibility of Ian and me getting back together._

Reality struck abruptly and she almost laughed. She shook her head at herself in bemusement. _I'm trying to fix a problem that probably doesn't even exist. What a waste of energy._

Hoshi shut off the light and crawled wearily into bed. _And if it turns out there is something going on,_ she thought before sleep took her, _I don't want to know about it._

*****

Tucker stretched out on his bunk and folded his arms under his head atop the pillow. He crossed his ankles under the covers and stared dreamily at the ceiling. It was two days until New Year's Eve and he was looking forward to the night with great anticipation. "We're going to have such a good time," he said aloud.

"What?" asked Malcolm, emerging from the lav. He was dressed in pajama pants and nothing else, his hair still mussed from sleep.

"New Year's Eve," Trip clarified. "It's gonna be great. I've heard a little of what Turie and Firdosz have planned for the party in Engineering. It should be great!"

"Turie and Firdosz?" Despite the off-duty relationships he had with some of his own staff, he had a hard time keeping track of Trip's team by their first names. "Ensign Snider and?"

"Crewman Nahai," clarified Trip. He rolled over onto one side and leaned on his elbow, resting his head on his hand.

"Ah. Thank you."

"I don't know everything they've got planned," Trip went on, "but Turie asked me to bring my harmonica."

Malcolm fought to keep his expression and tone neutral as he replied. "Did she?" He deliberately avoided his lover's gaze, choosing instead to open his drawer and pull out fresh blues.

"Yeah." The engineer's eyes narrowed as he watched Malcolm methodically collecting everything he needed to dress for duty. Trip sat up more fully and pinned him with a look. "What?" he demanded.

"What, 'what?'"

"You're acting strange suddenly."

"Strange?" Malcolm looked at him with what he hoped was an innocuous and innocent expression. "How so?"

Finally it clicked in Trip's head. "You don't like my harmonica, do you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"That look on your face, for one."

"There's no look on my face," protested Malcolm evenly.

"That's exactly what I mean. You're wearing that blank look you save for when you're trying not to be rude or insubordinate to the Captain. I've seen it a lot."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Malcolm turned away and put on his regulation bright blue undershirt.

Trip pushed back the bedclothes, and rose. Grabbing his boxers from the floor by the bunk, he pulled them on as he continued the argument. "Yes, you do." He crossed the room to where Malcolm stood.

Malcolm turned to face him. "Trip, can we not do this, please?"

"Do what?"

"Argue about something as trivial as whether or not I like your harmonica."

"Oh, now my harmonica is trivial?" demanded Trip defensively.

"In the grand scheme of thing, yes, it is."

"Thanks a lot, Malcolm." There was hurt in his voice.

"Trip, calm down. You're making a mountain out of a molehill." Malcolm's tone became placating. "I never said I didn't like your harmonica." _I just don't like having to listen to it,_ his mind added silently.

"So you do like it?" challenged Trip determinedly.

It was out before Malcolm could stop himself. "I wouldn't go that far." 

"Ah-_ha_!"

Malcolm backpedaled rapidly. "It'snot my favorite kind of music. That's all. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it."

"Damn right, it doesn't!" Trip's hackles were well and truly up.

"Why are you being so bloody defensive?" demanded Malcolm, more frustrated than angry, and genuinely puzzled. He'd tried to diffuse the situation before could come to this, but for whatever reason his partner wouldn't let it go.

"How come you never said anything before?"

"It never came up. Besides," he went on before Trip could say something else belligerent, "you don't play it that often. I didn't think it was that important to you. I'm sorry. I never intended to hurt your feelings or belittle something you enjoy."

"Well, you did," Trip replied flatly.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said again. "If I'd realized" He trailed off, not entirely certain if honesty was truly the best policy at the moment.

"Yeah? If you'd realizedthen what?"

"I suppose I'd've kept my mouth shut about it."

There was a moment of tense silence as Trip glared daggers at Malcolm, then as abruptly as he'd angered, he calmed again. The ire seemed to deflate from him and he almost chuckled. "Perfect. I suppose that's what I get for asking."

"I didn't suppose you wanted me to lie to you."

"No. You're right." Trip paused and reconsidered. "Well, maybe you could've lied a little."

Malcolm shrugged. "I'll try to remember that in future," he said wryly. His words elicited a conciliatory smile from his lover, and he smiled back. "Get dressed and we can get breakfast before going on duty. I'll spend the entire meal apologizing if it'll help."

Trip's smile grew sly. "It couldn't hurt."

*****

Lawless entered Main Engineering to the sound of bluegrass music being played on banjo, guitar, and harmonica. The old-fashioned acoustic music made her smile. Looking around, she quickly spotted two of her teammates and their C.O. at the far end of the long, narrow room. Commander Tucker looked like he was having so much fun that Lawless was willing to bet he'd be smiling non-stop for at least the next week. Snider and Hart were there with him, grinning as their fingers flew over their own instruments.

_I had no idea Turie played the banjo,_ she thought, amazed and amused. _How did I not know that?_ She shook her head at herself, chuckling.

"Hey, Lawless!" called out Ensign Cook. He waved her over to the makeshift bar that had been set up alongside the warp reactor.

"Is this really a good place to be serving booze?" she joked.

Cook shrugged. "Better than upstairs—where people would be lots more likely to fall from than down here," he countered, pointing at the open level above them.

Lawless nodded in agreement. His logic was solid, even if his grammar was doubtful. "What are you serving?"

"Four kinds of beer and two kinds of water." At her puzzled look, he elaborated. "Hefeweizen, bitter, amber, stout. Fizzy and plain," he concluded.

"I'm guessing the last two are the waters."

"Right you are! So, what'll it be?"

"A half-pint of amber, please."

Cook grabbed a pint glass and began to fill it. Before Lawless could protest, he said, "It's low-alcohol beer. Have a whole pint. It's not my favorite, personally, but it's good enough." He set the glass on the bar before her.

"Good enough for what?"

He grinned at her. "Good enough for what ails you," he answered enigmatically.

Lawless decided that he'd already had more than his fair share so there wasn't much point in continuing the conversation. "Cheers." Smiling, she raised her glass in a toast and sipped it before walking away from the mildly intoxicated bartender.

She looked around and realized that nearly every member of Engineering was already there. She caught the eyes of several co-workers and exchanged greetings with them. Almack, Rostov, Nahai, Kumata, and Ferridec were clustered together, listening as Ferridec told one of his outrageous and overly involved jokes. Apparently he'd just reached the climax, because the others suddenly laughed boisterously. Lawless saw Rostov swig back a huge swallow of beer, then surreptitiously check the time before joining in his friends' merriment.

She noticed Kelly and Fletcher next. They were dancing a surprisingly coordinated two-step while Rossi clapped in time to the music.

It was then her roving eyes spotted Lieutenant Reed standing with Lieutenant Hess near the performers. Both held half-finished beers and their attention was on the musicians. Even from that distance, Lawless could see that Reed's smile was a little strained. He was obviously uncomfortable, but it was equally obvious to her that he was trying his damnedest to appear as though he were having a good time.

_Poor guy,_ she thought sympathetically, sipping her drink. _He really doesn't want to be here._ She wondered if he would be able to escape to the other party going on in the Rec. Center. _Maybe if the Commander gets drunk later, I can smuggle the Lieutenant out when I leave._

Surprised at her own thoughts, she glanced down at her beer. She shot a suspicious look over towards Cook at the bar. "You sure this is low-alcohol?" she called to him over the music and general chatter.

He simply grinned, rosy cheeks practically glowing in the light of the engine.

"Great," muttered Lawless to herself. She silently vowed not to have another before going to the other party. She wanted to be sober when she met up with Ari there later.

Of course, she'd have to do a quick change of clothes before that. The party in the Rec. Center was much more formal than this gathering. Mae glanced around and confirmed her suspicions. No one there was in anything dressier than a pair of slacks or a simple skirt. She herself had opted for her usual chinos and a purple blouse. It was her standard "party outfit." The night's duty personnel were easy to pick out in the crowd; they were the only ones in uniform, but they appeared to be enjoying the music and atmosphere all the same.

Mae had one formal dress hanging undisturbed in her locker. Stephanie had convinced her to bring it when they'd left San Francisco. They had had lengthy and repeated arguments about the need for formalwear in deep space before they'd shipped out on _Enterprise_. They'd been silly, lighthearted debates in which Mae had insisted that any aliens they met wouldn't know or care whether or not the humans were dressed up for First Contact. Stephanie had countered that the aliens were irrelevant and there would eventually come a time when she would regret not having something fancy to wear if she didn't bring at least one dress. In the end, Mae had given in simply to shut her up. Now she would have to admit that Stephanie had been right.

_If it makes Ari's eyes do that cute awestruck thing,_ she thought with a grin, _it'll be worth it._

*****

The party in the Rec. Center was in full swing, although the live entertainment had yet to start. A bar manned by two stewards had been set up at one end of the room. Chef and his team had provided a huge array of hors d'oeuvres for people to nibble as the night progressed. Recorded music played softly under the white noise of many conversations. The main lights were dimmed just enough that tiny pinpoints of illumination could be seen on the walls and ceiling. They'd been painstakingly laid out to form the constellations of Earth's night skies.

Several small, round tables covered with plain white cloths dotted the room, some with chairs and others without. One area was left clear, however. A small stage had been set up in the far corner of the room where it was backed by large windows. The floor in front of it was open, providing plenty of room for those who might want to dance.

Above the stage hung a scale model of Earth's moon as it had looked before colonization. The only human addition to its surface—a digital screen set into the _Mare Imbrium_—faced the room. Green numbers glowed on it, counting down the time to the New Year.

Travis and Liz entered the room arm-in-arm. Liam spotted them and pointed them out to his companions. "Look at them," he said. "Don't they just make the most stunning couple, then?"

Travis looked sharp in a dark purple shirt and a pair of black slacks so well pressed they looked as though they could have sliced through bread. Liz was resplendent as well. Her royal blue silk dress skimmed her curves, outlining them perfectly.

Liam waved to catch their attention. Travis spotted him and waved back.

Hoshi regarded the pair as they wove their way through the crowd. "They're close, but I think you two have the 'Most Stunning Couple' award in the bag," she quipped.

"You're too kind, my dear," Kyrin chimed in. "Stay that way."

The three of them laughed just as Travis and Liz reached them. "What's so funny?" inquired Liz with a smile.

"Himself," Liam answered, pointing with his thumb to his partner. "Drink?"

"Yes, please, if you're going that way. Red wine?"

"And for the gent?" He turned an inquiring smile on Travis.

"Whatever amber beer they're serving, thanks," he replied.

Liam turned to Kyrin. "Another?"

"Thank you." Kyrin handed him his empty martini glass, and Liam turned to Hoshi.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said before he could ask.

He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Liz turned to Hoshi. "You look beautiful tonight," she said.

The comm officer glanced down at her floral skirt and crimson top. She shrugged. "Thanks," she said unenthusiastically. "It'swhat I had. You look gorgeous, though!" she added more cheerfully.

"Thanks. Travis said the same thing, but you can never trust a guy to tell you if you don't look good." Liz shot Travis a teasing look.

"It's less dangerous that way," he said in all seriousness.

Kyrin sniffed woundedly and brushed a non-existent bit of fluff from the lapel of his charcoal-gray blazer. "Is no one going to tell me how fabulous I look?" he asked in a mock-offended tone.

Travis grinned and replied in overstated earnestness, "You look simply _stunning_ this evening."

"Thank you, my dear fellow."

Liam returned at that moment, carrying four drinks with expert ease. 

"Where did you learn to do that?" Liz wanted to know as she took the wineglass precariously balanced atop the other glasses.

"Waiting tables in a Belfast pub," Liam said. He turned a hopeful eye on Kyrin. "Would you mind?"

His lover promptly claimed his martini, leaving Liam holding two pint glasses. The young man passed one over to Travis.

"Thanks," the helmsman said.

"You're just in time," Hoshi informed Liam. "It looks like the entertainment's going to start any moment." She had been watching the stage area for a while, and it looked like the performers were almost ready. Bonnie, however, seemed to be stalling a bit. She moved more slowly than the three musicians with her, repeatedly checked the time, and then glanced at the Rec. Center's door.

"Where's Stephanie?" asked Travis, unknowingly mirroring Bonnie's thoughts. He looked around the room, trying to spot the short blonde amidst the throng.

"She should have beaten us here," Liz informed the group as she added her gaze to the search. "She left the cabin the same time I did, and I stopped at Travis's before coming here."

At that moment, Hoshi saw Bonnie's face light up in a broad smile. "I think she just arrived." The small group looked toward the door where Stephanie had just entered—with Ian on one arm and Ari on the other.

Liz laughed. "Leave it to her to make a grand entrance."

They watched Stephanie shoot a grin at Bonnie, who grinned and nodded slightly in return. Then the blonde led her escorts to the bar where they ordered and were promptly served. Stephanie said something quietly to the two men before giving them a little wave good-bye and heading towards Liz and the others.

"Greetings, all," she said cheerfully. "Looks like I haven't missed anything."

Before anyone could reply, the drummer counted out a beat with his sticks and the music began. It was a quick swing rhythm that immediately set toes tapping amid the crowd. When Bonnie joined in on the vocals, even those not actively listening couldn't help but move a little with the beat.

"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.  
Well it don't mean a thing, all you got to do is sing.  
It makes no difference if it's sweet or hot,  
Just give that rhythm, give it everything you got!  
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!"1

By the time the song was over, Bonnie had everyone's attention and they all applauded appreciatively. 

"Thank you and good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Starlight Ballroom," Bonnie quipped to the crowd. Many people chuckled and, encouraged, she went on. "You've probably figured out our theme for tonight's entertainment by now. Please feel free to dance if the music inspires you in that direction. We'll be singing and playing up to the New Year. We hope you enjoy it because you're stuck with us for the next hour and a half."

Without any further preamble, the trio struck up another tune.

"Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars.  
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.  
In other words, hold my hand.  
In other words, darling, kiss me."2

At one end of the bar, Ari leaned towards Ian and said, "They're really good!"

Ian shrugged one shoulder and tossed back the last of his beer. He set down the empty glass and caught the steward's eye. "Gimme another."

"Don't you think?" Ari persisted, sipping his own drink more sedately. He wanted to be relaxed but still sober when Mae arrived. He absently adjusted a cuff that was already perfectly fine, causing his pint glass to tip and spill slightly, nearly splashing Ian.

"Watch it!"

"Whoops!" Ari immediately righted his glass and took another drink to lower the level. "Sorry."

Ian claimed his fresh beer from the bar steward. "No big deal," he said flatly. He stared out across the crowd, actively trying not to notice where Hoshi was, whom she was with, or how terrific she looked. He took another long swallow of beer.

"Slow down, buddy," Ari cautioned. "You're not going to make it to midnight at the rate you're going."

"So?"

"Come on. You're all dressed up. You're at a party. You could at least try to have a good time while you're here."

Ian fixed his bunkmate with a thin-lipped stare. "I'm here because you wouldn't shut up about it." It was only half the truth. He didn't think Ari needed to know the other half—that although he was screwing Michael, he wanted to show up at the New Year's party looking so good that Hoshi would be impressed and just maybe want him back.

He held up his beer. "And I _am_ trying to have a good time."

As the music continued, couples began to filter toward the empty area before the stage and begin dancing.

Liz turned to Travis. "May I have this dance?"

"Absolutely." They set their drinks on a nearby table. The two took hands and Liz led Travis out onto the dance floor. The current song ended shortly after their arrival, but the band immediately launched into another. This time it was a slow, romantic tune.

Kyrin smiled at Liam. "I think this one is just my speed," he said invitingly, offering his lover a hand.

Liam took it readily. He looked to Hoshi and Stephanie. "Excuse us, ladies." Setting aside their drinks as the others had done before them, the pair joined the dancing couples.

Left alone, Hoshi and Stephanie sipped their drinks in silence and enjoyed the music. 

Bonnie sang and moved easily before the crowd, apparently completely comfortable and in her element. She had on the same green dress and high heels she'd worn at Stephanie's birthday party the past Spring and it had the same effect on the blonde now that it had had then. Her eyes remained riveted on Bonnie, her heart raced, and she grew increasingly aroused.

Stephanie deliberately looked away in order to break her train of thought. It was over an hour until midnight when she could escape with her lover and actually do something about her feelings. For now, she distracted herself by taking the lime wedge from the edge of her glass and squeezing it into her tonic. Then she delicately licked the sour juice from her fingers. "Tacky, I know," she said to her companion, "but why have the lime if you're not going to use it?"

"I can't argue with that," Hoshi replied with a small smile.

Her tone was light, but there was something in her manner that gave Stephanie pause. She followed the comm officer's gaze to where it rested on two figures at the bar. _Ah. Ian,_ she thought. She had to admit her fellow armory ensign looked great tonight. His black shirt had a hint of shine to it and the slacks he wore were just tight enough in all the right places. His shoes were so highly polished that they reflected the lights of the simulated constellations. 

Ari was certainly no slouch, either. He wore a warm pumpkin-colored oxford shirt and linen pants in a rich shade of brown that perfectly matched his eyes. Stephanie smirked, knowing just whom he was dressed up for. She looked forward to Mae's arrival to see how her friend reacted when she saw him.

Stephanie had run into Ian and Ari on her way to the Rec. Center. They'd been arguing about something, but stopped the moment they caught sight of her. She had taken the opportunity to link arms with both men and walk them to their obvious destination. The fact that it allowed her to make an entrance on the arms of two handsome men had been icing on the cake—a little bit of added fun in her evening.

"They look hot," she said, startling Hoshi and causing her to look suddenly in a different direction.

"Who?" Hoshi asked too nonchalantly.

"Ian and Ari. I saw you looking at them. Can't blame you. They both clean up surprisingly well, don't they?"

There was no point in denying it. Anyone with eyes would have had to agree. "They sure do," Hoshi admitted. "You look great tonight, too," she went on, hoping to sidetrack the conversation.

Stephanie looked down at her black pumps and silk skirt, then ran her free hand along the arm that held her drink. The burgundy velvet of her shirt felt luxurious against her fingers. She grinned. "Bonnie likes it," she said coyly, a gleam in her eyes.

Hoshi forced herself to smile back. She didn't begrudge her friends their fun; she just didn't appreciate having to watch all the happy couples around her when she was alone.

The music changed to another upbeat number and it made Stephanie want to move. "You want to dance?" she asked suddenly, interrupting Hoshi's glum musings.

Hoshi shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. I'm not very familiar with swing dancing."

"Don't worry. I am, but I never get to lead when I dance with Bonnie." Before Hoshi could protest again, Stephanie took the comm officer's drink and set it on the table with her own. "C'mon." She grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

"Look at that," said Ari, surprised and impressed. Stephanie and Hoshi had just joined the rest of the dancers and they were immediately spinning and swinging their way through the crowd. "I had no idea either of them could dance like that."

Ian had seen the same thing his roommate saw, but he was less enthusiastic. "Me either," he practically grunted. His expression was dour as he tossed back his beer and demanded another from the steward. The young man complied after a brief hesitation.

"How many is that?" Ari asked his bunkmate quietly.

"Three."

Ari shot a quick, inquisitive glance at the bar steward who shook his head and covertly held up four fingers. Ari nodded his thanks and refocused his attention on his friend. "Pace yourself," he recommended. "There's still an hour to go."

"You're assuming I intend to be here at midnight," Ian said dully.

"Where else—?" But his question was cut short as the door opened.

Mae stood there, outlined by the light from the corridor as she paused in the doorway and scanned the room with her eyes. Ari gaped at her, his train of thought completely derailed. She was dressed in a sleeveless, floor-length black gown with an asymmetrical neckline trimmed in pale gold. The skirt of the dress was slit up to her knee on one side, and her stance revealed one shapely leg all the way down to her high-heeled sandal.

Ian glanced from Ari to Mae and then back again before snorting in disgust. "Stop drooling. It makes you look desperate."

Ari shut his mouth with a snap and shot a glare at his bunkmate. "You just get funnier every damn day," he snarled. Then he turned a more pleasant look on the bar steward. "Another hefeweizen and a cosmopolitan, please."

The man quickly served him the drinks. Ari thanked him politely and then made his way across the room without a single backward glance at Ian.

"Hi," said Ari when he reached Mae. "Drink?"

She smiled and took the martini glass. "Thank you."

"You look...amazing."

Mae's smile broadened. Ari's eyes were doing precisely what she'd hoped they would do; he looked awestruck. "Thank you," she said again. She sipped her cosmopolitan, then looked up at him enticingly over the rim of the glass. "Perfect."

*****

It had taken some doing, but he'd finally managed it. Archer had convinced T'Pol to come to the New Year's Eve party. The pair walked together toward the Rec. Center.

"I swear you'll have a great time," Archer insisted.

"So you said," his second-in-command replied evenly.

"There's a jazz trio and Ensign Fraser is singing."

"I still fail to see why you feel it's so important for me to attend this gathering."

"It only happens once a year. I think you can stand to relax for half an hour with your fellow crewmembers."

"I don't find large gatherings of humans relaxing."

"All the more reason to go," insisted Archer. At T'Pol's highly dubious look, he explained. "The more often you mingle, the easier it becomes. There's an old Earth saying. 'Familiarity breeds contentment.'"

"Really?" She paused and turned to him, causing him to stop abruptly, mid-stride. "I understood the saying to be 'Familiarity breeds contempt.'"

Archer was momentarily stymied. He couldn't be sure, but he almost thought she was teasing him. He continued walking before replying, "It depends who you ask."

T'Pol inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment and followed him.

When they reached the door to the Rec. Center, Archer took his moment of revenge. He leaned over and spoke quietly in T'Pol's ear. "Don't worry. Nobody expects you to kiss anyone at midnight, despite tradition." He stole a quick glance at her and grinned smugly to himself at her wide-eyed consternation. He strolled casually into the room, hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, leaving her standing in the doorway. He almost felt like whistling.

The band was in the middle of a French torch song of the swing era. Archer didn't understand the words, but the tone suggested a love song. At the bar, he ran into Doctor Phlox.

"Evening, Doctor," he said, then turned to the nearest bar steward. "I'll take a schooner of amber."

"Yes, sir," the young man replied, filling his order and placing the glass on the bar.

"Good evening, Captain," replied Phlox jovially. He sipped something pink and frothy with a small umbrella in it. "Splendid party, isn't it?"

Archer nodded, took a swallow of beer, and looked around. "The Stellar Cartography department really outdid themselves with the decorations."

"Indeed."

The two stood in companionable silence for several moments.

"They're very good," Phlox said eventually, nodding toward the group on stage. "Did you know that Emily—med-tech Northfield—has studied the bass since she was eight years old?"

"Really?" Archer regarded the woman playing the narrow, upright electric bass.

"Yes. It came up once in conversation—I don't recall how or why."

"What about the others? The men on drums and keyboard?"

Phlox smiled at him blithely. "I have no idea."

The song ended and they applauded with the rest of the crowd before the band transitioned into a new piece. This one was fast-paced and in English. Immediately the dance floor was swamped with couples ready to swing. As the night had progressed, more and more people had loosened up and begun to dance.

T'Pol approached the bar. "Ginger ale with ice," she told the steward. She waited until she had her drink before acknowledging Phlox and Archer. "Doctor. Captain."

"Good evening, Sub-commander!" Phlox chimed cheerily. He's eyes were bright and shining as he sipped at his drink.

"How many of those have you had?" asked Archer uncertainly but with mirth in his voice.

"Six," the doctor announced.

"What are you drinking?" T'Pol inquired curiously.

"Uhh..." He looked to the bar steward. "What did you call this again?"

"Shirley Temple," the young man replied.

"Shirley Temple!" echoed Phlox as if it were an epiphany.

Archer chuckled. "Shirley Temple?"

T'Pol looked at him inquisitively, puzzled by his mirth. "I don't understand."

"There's no alcohol in a Shirley Temple," Archer explained.

"No," agreed Phlox readily. "But there is a very high sugar content! Would you care to dance, Sub-commander?"

"No, thank you," T'Pol answered unequivocally.

Phlox turned bright eyes on Archer. "Captain?"

"I think I'll pass, thanks," the captain replied, still laughing.

"Your loss." Phlox tossed back the last of his fruity beverage and set the glass solidly on the bar. "Hmm... It looks as though Ensign Sato's dance partner has deserted her. Perhaps I can entice her onto the floor."

Archer and T'Pol watched him maneuver through the crowd to where Sato stood at the edge of the dance floor. They exchanged a few words, then joined the dancing couples.

Once out on the floor, Hoshi smiled at Phlox. "I had no idea you knew how to dance."

"I've been watching for the last hour or so," he replied, spinning her away and back in again. "I've managed to pick up one or two moves." He dipped her suddenly, then righted her and spun her out to arm's length again.

Hoshi grabbed both of his hands, laughing. "You certainly have!"

Liz and Travis danced by. "Great moves!" grinned Liz.

"Thank you!" Phlox replied, then tangoed Hoshi across the floor.

"Okay, where did he learn how to do that?" Travis wondered.

Ari overheard him as he and Mae passed by. "I think he's been watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies."

"That explains it."

Off to one side, Ian watched them all dancing and laughing. He took a long drink of his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He leaned against the bulkhead and checked the time. It took him a moment or two to focus on the numbers in the panel by the door, but he finally came up with 2359.

_Good,_ he thought fuzzily. He knew he was a bit drunk, but he didn't care. He was still sober enough to know he didn't want to there anymore.

On stage, the music ended and someone handed Bonnie a wineglass and a spoon. She tapped the glass lightly to get everyone's attention.

Ian finished the dregs his beer and left the empty pint glass on a table. He took one bleary look around the room. When all eyes were focused on Bonnie, he slipped out the door. He could hear her speaking for a moment before the door closed and he was alone. He wove his way unsteadily along the corridor in the direction of his cabin.

Back in the Rec. Center, the countdown had begun. Nearly everyone shouted out the numbers as they clicked on toward midnight. T'Pol watched in silence from her position at the back of the room. Archer noticed her there, looked over, and winked mischievously. She looked pointedly away.

"Fourthreetwoone!"

Wild cheering and shouts of "Happy New Year!" rang through the room. Couples kissed to mark the turning of the year. Even people who weren't romantically involved traded kisses to honor the event.

Travis and Liz, already standing hand-in-hand, leaned into one another to share a quick kiss. Their eyes held a promise of more to come when they were alone.

Kyrin grabbed Liam and dipped him dramatically before righting his lover and kissing him soundly. Liam laughed in gleeful surprise. He whispered something in Kyrin's ear that made the older man grin and nod.

Without warning, Hoshi found herself pulled in by Liam and a kiss planted on her lips.

"Happy New Year, missy," he declared.

"You, too," she replied, too surprised to come up with anything more. She smiled pensively as Liam rejoined Kyrin.

Several steps away from their friends, Mae and Ari looked at each other a little nervously. Both were flushed with the combination of drinks and dancing. Their hearts beat rapidly.

_Come on. Kiss me already!_ Mae thought, desperate to dispel the awkward moment.

"May I?" Ari asked in a mixture of gallantry and bashfulness.

"Yes!" Mae answered fervently enough to make Ari start in surprise. They both laughed, and then they kissed sweetly, softly, with a hint of shyness in their embrace. When they broke the kiss, the two smiled at one another.

Mae wrapped her arm around Ari's waist and murmured softly, "You can do that any time, by the way."

He grinned at her. "I'll remember that."

Bonnie stepped away from the stage and grabbed Stephanie's hand. She pulled her in, kissing her quickly. Then she whispered in the shorter woman's ear, "That's just a prologue." Before Stephanie could reply, Bonnie was back up on stage. She signaled the crewman at the keyboard, and he began to play an old, traditional tune. Immediately, people began to sing.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And days of auld lang syne?  
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,  
And days of auld lang syne.  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And days of auld lang syne?"3

More cheering erupted when the verse was done, and more kissing followed soon after. Hoshi took the moment to sidle towards the door. She didn't need to hang around any longer and watch happy and drunk people snogging one another.

The band had just begun to play their final number as Hoshi slowly made her way to the edge of the crowd. She listened to the lullaby-like song and smiled, thinking back on the evening. 

"Goodnight, my love, the tired old moon is descending," sang Bonnie sweetly.

All in all, she'd had a good time. She'd really enjoyed getting to relax and chat with her friends. Dancing with Stephanie and with Phlox had been unexpected and fun, and it had been sweet of Liam to give her a New Year's kiss.

"Goodnight my love, my moment with you now is ending."

Then her smile faded a bit as she thought of Ian. He'd spent the better part of the evening leaning nonchalantly on the bar and looking more handsome than he had any right to look. She might be projecting, but she wondered if he hadn't also looked a bit lonely.

She sighed and yawned. It was time for her to get some sleep.

"It was so heavenly, holding you close to me,  
It will be heavenly to hold you again in a dream."

Hoshi slipped out into the corridor. She yawned again, covering her mouth with one delicate hand as she walked tiredly to the turbolift. She looked forward to washing the makeup from her face, changing into her nightgown, and falling into bed.

She reached the lift and hailed it. The door whooshed open and Hoshi froze—as did the lift's two occupants.

A split second later Michael and Ian leapt apart as if they'd been stung, but it was too late. There was no way to hide what they'd been doing when Hoshi had inadvertently stumbled upon their clandestine meeting. Ian scrambled to do up his shirt, getting the sides off from one another as he fumbled with the buttons. Michael stood there in shocked and stony silence, waiting to see what the others would do. He took the moment to tuck the tails of his shirt back into his tight-fitting black jeans.

Ian broke the terrible silence. "Hoshi I I can explain"

Hoshi desperately wished she could turn back time. It didn't have to be much; even one minute would have been more than plenty. She just needed enough time to change her mind, to decide to stay for Bonnie's last song, or to have one last drink before turning in. She didn't want to see what she saw, didn't want to know what she knew.

Music filtered along the corridor as the Rec. Center's door opened and people began to leave the party.

Hoshi's heart ached, but her voice was cold and steady as she gave Ian the only answer she could. "Save it for Captain Archer."

Quietly, Bonnie's voice reached them.

"Sleep tight, my love, goodnight, my love,  
Remember that you're my sweetheart."4

*****  
End Log 2:22  
_Completed 16 Jan 04  
Continued in Log 2:23_

1 _It Don't Mean a Thing_ lyrics by Irving Mills, copyright 1932  
2 _Fly Me to the Moon_ lyrics by Bart Howard, copyright 1954  
3 _Auld Lang Syne_ lyrics by Robert Burns  
4 _Goodnight, My Love_ lyrics by Mack Gordon, copyright 1934


	23. Log 2:23

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:23**: (Immediately following Log 2:22)  
_Rating [R]_ – language and suggestive situations  
**Author's Notes**: Many thanks to SueC for her insight into the UK university system. I've played a bit loose with the info she provided based on the wild assumption that after 150 years and the Eugenics Wars things might be a little bit different. ;-)  
**Special Thanks**: To my fabulous editrix and my dear betas for seeing what was missing and making me write itall of it.  
**Soundtrack**:_Midnight Angel_ – Jimmy Rankin; _Gamila (The Night is Beautiful)_ – Emad Sayyeh; _I Could be David_ – Carolyn Currie; _London Rain_ – Heather Nova

*****

Trip draped one arm over Malcolm's shoulders as they walked. It was very late and both men were tired after the New Year's Eve festivities. They lazily wended their way toward Trip's quarters.

"So did you have fun?" Trip asked, his words a little slurred from exhaustion enhanced by several beers. He fiddled idly with the harmonica in his hand, turning it around and around and occasionally tapping it against his thigh.

"I did," Malcolm answered, surprised that it was actually the truth. The party in Engineering hadn't been his favorite kind of gathering, but in all honesty no social event involving more than about four people was his kind of gathering.

"Really?"

Malcolm smiled. He knew what his lover was getting at and he couldn't blame him. "Really," he echoed. "The beer, the music—"

Trip snorted in satisfaction.

"—but mostly the company," Malcolm concluded as if he hadn't been interrupted.

They continued along the corridor in silence. Trip yawned hugely. Malcolm couldn't help but yawn in reaction.

"I'm wiped out," Trip announced as they reached the door to his quarters. He keyed open the lock and the two went inside.

Once they were alone in the privacy of the cabin, Trip turned to Malcolm, wrapped both arms around the shorter man, and kissed him soundly. "Happy New Year, Malcolm," he said, smiling lovingly.

Malcolm tried to return the smile with equal warmth, but Trip's words only reminded him of something he had to do. He'd made a promise to himself that after the New Year he would tell his partner what really happened during his crossing with the non-corporeal alien. _To tell him what happened back on Earth before I joined Starfleet,_ he thought.

"Happy New Year to you, too," Malcolm replied, stepping away from him.

Trip's smile faded until it was nearly a frown. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine." Trip's tone grew suspicious. "You didn't have a good time at the Engineering party, did you?" he challenged, pointing at Malcolm with his harmonica.

"No, I did!" insisted Malcolm. "This isn't about that."

"'This' what? What is 'this' and what is it about?" Trip sat heavily on the bunk and eyed Malcolm critically. "You've been acting kind of weird for days."

Malcolm was unsurprised to learn that Trip had noticed a change in him lately. It was to be expected. "I know. I'm sorry."

"So what's going on?" Trip's tone was concerned and challenging at the same time.

Malcolm regarded him closely. Trip's hair was still fairly tidy, but his beard had grown out to a blond shadow since he'd last shaved early that morning. His blue eyes were tired, but clear and inquisitive. Malcolm could see his tension, too, the nervous fidgeting with the harmonica in his hands. He could also see the fatigue in Trip's face and in the very way he held himself.

_I should wait until morning,_ Malcolm thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. _I've waited too long to do this._ He approached Trip on the bed, but didn't sit. "Can we talk?"

"Huh? Of course," Trip replied, puzzled and a little concerned. In his experience, no good conversation ever started with those words. He patted the bunk next to him invitingly and finally set aside his harmonica on the nightstand. "Sit down."

Malcolm instead sat at the foot of the bed, as far from his partner as possible without actually crossing the room to the desk chair.

Trip noticed and frowned. "What's going on with you?"

"Do you remember those aliens who tried to take over _Enterprise_?"

"Which ones?" Trip couldn't help but wisecrack.

Malcolm chuckled. "Fair enough. I meant the non-corporeal life-forms who tried to steal our bodies as well as the ship."

"Oh, those aliens. Yeah, of course I remember them. What's that got to do with–?"

Malcolm held up a hand, stopping his question. "Just let me do this. Please."

Trip's stomach lurched and it wasn't because he'd had too much to drink. "Okay." He wanted to ask all sorts of questions, but nothing he thought of was any better than what he'd already asked. He reined in his curiosity, impatience, and fear as best he could and waited for Malcolm to go on.

Malcolm sat in silence for several moments, collecting and organizing his thoughts. "Do you remember asking me where I'd gone during the crossing?"

Trip nodded.

"Well, what I told you was only part of the truth. I did go back to that day with my sister," he said reassuringly, wondering if his assurance was for himself or his lover. "But I also went back to another day." He visibly hesitated. Years of practice had kept the events of his past buried deeply in the darkest corner of his mind. Now that he was about to tell the story, he wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.

Trip didn't know what was going on in his partner's head, but he could tell it was hurting Malcolm just to think about it. "You don't have to tell me," he said gently.

"That's what you said then, too." Malcolm chuckled once mirthlessly, a joyless and ironic half-smile curling his lips. "No. I do have to tell you. You said yourself that I've been acting strangely lately. It's not fair to you to keep on like this. You should know what happened."

"It's okay."

"No, Trip, it's not okay. I love you and you deserve better than I've treated you."

"You've treated me better than anyone ever has," protested Trip immediately.

Malcolm shook his head. "Not lately. I can't have lately." He continued before Trip could protest again. "I haven't been all here, and you should know why."

Trip thought before nodding again. He knew Malcolm was right. He'd noticed his lover's distraction over the past week or so. There was no denying it, so he didn't try. "All right."

"Do you remember the night you asked me to move in with you?"

"Of course. You promised to think about it," Trip reminded him quickly.

"I did and I have. Before I give you an answer, though, you need the facts. After that you might not want me to move in."

Trip couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Malcolm, what the hell are you driving at?"

"Rupert Murray." Malcolm felt a weight lift just by saying the name. He'd kept it buried for so long, not even allowing himself to think it, that to finally speak his old lover's name aloud was liberating.

"Who?" Trip was completely bewildered.

"The person whose ass you promised to kick from Earth to Draylax and back again, remember? His name is Rupert Murray."

A light went on inside Trip's head. "The one who hurt you somehow. Hurt you so badly you don't trust people."

Malcolm nodded. "The very one. I met him my first year at university. He was the graduate student T.A. for the theatre course I was taking."

"Theatre?" queried Trip in surprise. "You took an acting class?"

"No," Malcolm corrected. "It was Pre-War Playwrights or something like that. Stoppard, Churchill, Wilson—that sort of thing. I think I took it more to annoy my father than anything else," Malcolm added, his tone full of irony. "But as it turned out I loved it. And of course that was where I met Rupert. He waseverything. Handsome, smart, witty." An almost wistful expression overtook Malcolm's face as he began to remember all the good memories he'd locked away along with the bad.

Trip's stomach turned again and he resisted the urge to grab a pillow to hold. He wondered if Malcolm ever looked like that when he thought about the two of them. He couldn't bring himself to ask.

Malcolm went on wryly. "He was my first 'older man'."

"Your first?" Trip started, but couldn't complete the question. As it turned out, he didn't need to.

"Not my first lover, if that's what you're wondering," Malcolm finished for him.

The look on Trip's face was enough to confirm that this was what he'd thought.

Malcolm shook his head once. "No. I'd had few fumbling encounters and one particular fuck-buddy before that." Trip noticeably started at Malcolm's candid answer, but Malcolm went on without pause. "Kid stuff mainly. You know what it's like when you're young, inexperienced, curioushorny."

Trip nodded slightly, a light flush in his cheeks as he remembered his own youthful trysts. "Yeah, I know."

"But with Rupert it was different."

"Hang on." There was something bothering the engineer and he couldn't let his lover go on until he had an answer. "Wasn't it against the rules for a student and a teacher to, you know?"

"Yes."

"And that would apply to grad T.A.s, too, right?" Trip couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that the Malcolm he knew would ever violate regulations like that.

It was obvious what he was driving at, so Malcolm explained. "Of course, if one were taking a class administered by that T.A. Rupert and I didn't start seeing one another seriously until Summer Term." Malcolm collected his thoughts so he could explain chronologically. "We met Fall Term, but he didn't know I was interested until I took another class simply because he was the teacher's assistant for it. I think that was what won him over, really. I think it appealed to his ego," he added acerbically. "It was a wretched class in Restoration Theatre. I never would have passed it without his help. That was how we really got to know one another—when he tutored me in that course. It was worth slogging through _The Country Wife_ to discover that he was just as interested in me as I was in him. After that I made it a point not to take any class he T.A.'d. It was a shame really. He was an excellent teacher."

Trip had to physically bite his tongue to keep from asking the question that leapt to his mind. Instead, he waited silently for Malcolm to go on.

By then, Malcolm was so caught up in the huge flood of memories that he barely noticed Trip at all.

* * *

Summer Term final exams were over, and Malcolm was free for a whole fortnight before Fall Term was scheduled to begin. Normally he would have been expected to visit his family over the break, but his father had just been transferred to New Guinea. Malcolm still could have visited, but the new relocation and the resultant settling in period were excuse enough for him to stay in London. And it meant he could spend the holiday with Rupert.

He walked the few blocks from campus to his tiny flat with a bounce in his step. Reaching the flat, he went inside and unceremoniously dumped his pack on the small table just inside the door. He would put it and its contents away properly later. Right now he was so relieved to have his exams over with that he simply couldn't be bothered.

He glanced at the clock on the clapped-out old cooker. It was a quarter of two. Malcolm had another three hours until Rupert's last exam was over.

"Plenty of time," he said aloud to the empty apartment. _I can go shopping for dinner, have a shower, and still make it to Rupert's before he gets in._ Malcolm wasn't much of a cook, but there were a few things he could do well and he'd promised Rupert a special end-of-term supper tonight.

They'd been dating for most of Summer Term, although they'd kept their meetings strictly off-campus. Malcolm was careful not to take any of Rupert's classes after the second one that past winter. Spring and Summer Terms had been a bit of a misery as their paths rarely crossed during the day; although both men had agreed it was better they not be seen together on campus until they'd let some time pass since their earlier student-teacher relationship. It wasn't unusual for an undergraduate and a grad student to date, but not when one was in a position of academic authority over the other.

_But now it's been long enough we can do what we want,_ Malcolm thought cheerfully, a broad grin on his young face. He dug into his pack for his wallet and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. Next, he grabbed a shopping bag from the linen drawer, made sure he had the list he'd written up the previous night, and headed back out into the warm afternoon sun.

* * *

"It was at dinner that night that Rupert asked me to move in with him. He said he wanted to make the relationship public," Malcolm explained. Then he paused and pursed his lips. "Well, no," he corrected himself dryly. "What he actually said was that he wanted to 'premier it before the world'." He frowned as his thoughts turned even deeper inward. "At least some things never change."

Trip wanted to know exactly what Malcolm meant, but he said nothing. He didn't know how Malcolm would react to anything he might ask. He couldn't decide if he was more afraid his lover would answer him, or stop his story right there.

Unaware of Trip's silent deliberation, Malcolm took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts once again. "I moved in immediately. It was like a dream at first—cliché as that sounds. His flat was in a fabulous building in Earl's Court—Victorian architecture, but post-war construction. It wasn't a huge place, but compared to my grim little undergraduate flat it was positively palatial. It had a working fireplace and built-in bookshelves that he'd filled with scripts and old theatrical criticism texts and whatnot. Of course I thought the best thing about the place was Rupert.

"He worked a lot. He was a T.A. for two classes every term on top of his own course load. But I didn't mind. I was young and correspondingly stupid. I was drunk on the feeling that comes from having a boyfriend who's something of a status symbol. There I was, barely out of my first year, and I'd bagged myself a graduate student. I thought I was quite the mature adult." He snorted derisively. "Not bloody likely."

Trip finally dared a question. "So what happened?"

"Nothing at first. We settled into a routine that worked well for us. Classes, study, and free time—it all fell into a comfortable, relatively predictable pattern. We managed to take our winter holiday together in Edinburgh that year. Have you ever seen Edinburgh in the snow?" Malcolm asked Trip unexpectedly, turning clear blue eyes on his lover.

Trip's heart skipped a beat. Malcolm looked so happy at this particular memory that it unnerved him a little. He shook his head. "I've never been there," he answered stiffly.

Malcolm smiled nostalgically and continued. "It was brilliant. We rang in the New Year in this tremendous old pub on the Royal Mile. At midnight everyone rushed out into the street to cheer and sing. The castle was in the background, looming and beautiful all at once. Of course nearly everyone in the pub were tourists like Rupert and I," he went on. "New Year's is more of a family holiday in Scotland, I guess." He shrugged. "I was more than happy to be on the opposite side of the planet from my family. All I needed was Rupert. He was wonderful. He was my friend, my lover, my mentor. He took care of me.

"That trip to Edinburgh was our first real vacation together—the first time we'd gotten away from university, away from London for more than a day at a time. I over-romanticized it in my mind; I thought of it as something of a honeymoon." Malcolm shook his head, chuckling sadly and a little fondly at the young man he used to be. He didn't see the way Trip's face tensed and paled at his words, or the way the engineer clutched, white-knuckled, at the edge of the mattress.

"We had a wonderful time that weekup until New Year's itself," Malcolm added with a somewhat sheepish tone.

* * *

Malcolm and Rupert clinked their pint glasses together one last time, shouting "Sláinte!" and "Happy New Year!" with the rest of the crowd before downing the dregs of their beers. Each had one arm wrapped around his lover's shoulders and they leaned on one another for support and warmth in the cold night air. As one, they stumbled over the cobblestones of the Royal Mile and back into the stuffy and crowded pub.

Once they'd pushed and jostled their way to the bar, Rupert placed his empty glass on it and reached to take Malcolm's from his dangling hand.

"Another round!" the very drunk Malcolm shouted cheerfully.

"I don't think so, baby," Rupert replied as he set the younger man's glass next to his own. "You've had plenty."

Malcolm pouted. "Just one more?" he pleaded, using his best sad puppy dog expression.

Rupert couldn't help but smile at that face, but he didn't back down. "Not tonight," he said gently. "You want to be up and about early enough to see the castle in the morning light, right?"

Malcolm nodded. He vaguely remembered having said something to that effect.

"All right then. No more beer tonight."

They'd run a tab over the course of the evening and Rupert quickly got the bill from the bartender and paid it. Then he led Malcolm—who continued to protest despite his agreement mere moments before—back out into the street, grabbing their heavy coats from the overloaded pegs by the door on their way out. Several of the happy revelers still outside noticed them and laughed, enjoying the sight of someone even drunker than they were. Rupert merely smiled back, giving them all a chagrined look and a one-shouldered shrug. A large, burly man clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically, nearly knocking him, and consequently Malcolm, to the ground. But Rupert managed to keep himself and his burden upright long enough to wend their way out of the throng.

Rupert half carried and half dragged his drunken lover along the Royal Mile for a few blocks. In his other arm, he carried their coats. It was freezing out, but the walk to the hotel was short. The heat they'd built up over a night of drinking would keep them warm enough until they got back.

Malcolm had fallen silent, but when they reached a dark, quiet cross street, he spoke up again.

"Stop."

Rupert stopped, one arm still supporting him. "What is it, baby?" he asked.

"I'm" Malcolm took a deep breath of the icy air, willing his stomach to cease its unpleasant roiling. "I think I'm—" Before he could go on, he vomited.

Quick as a flash, Rupert tossed the coats aside and lowered Malcolm to his knees. Keeping one arm around him, he placed his free hand on Malcolm's forehead, holding him as he continued to retch, spewing up whatever his stomach had to offer.

They knelt there for a minute or two after Malcolm had finally ceased throwing up.

"All right now?" Rupert asked him gently.

Malcolm could only nod weakly in response. 

"Okay." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe Malcolm's face clean. "Think you can make it back to the hotel now?"

Malcolm nodded again, and Rupert helped him to rise. "Sorry," Malcolm mumbled. "Was such a nice time until"

"Shh. It's okay, baby," his lover murmured tenderly, brushing an errant lock of sweat-dampened hair from Malcolm's forehead. "It happens sometimes. No one's angry. Wait here a moment." He leaned Malcolm against the cold stone wall of the nearest building. Then Rupert retrieved their coats and once more wrapped a supportive arm around him.

Together they slowly wended their way back to their hotel. Once there in the quiet privacy of their cozy little room, Rupert carefully washed Malcolm's face and hands, undressed him, and tucked him into bed.

"Sweet dreams, Malcolm," he whispered, planting a soft kiss on the younger man's freshly scrubbed and rosy cheek.

Malcolm managed to groan an inarticulate reply before drifting into welcome sleep.

* * *

"Not my finest hour," said Malcolm wryly. "Fortunately I've only ever gotten that drunk that one time. I don't like to lose control like that."

"Nobody does," agreed Trip. "We've all been there at one time or another. I was there more than once back in college." He braced himself mentally before going on in a too-casual tone. "Sounds like you two had quite a time together."

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Malcolm agreed.

He continued his narrative. "We returned to London for Winter Term after that and quickly fell back into our usual routine. We were busy but happy. I studied sciences, for the most part, and worked on fulfilling my required elective credits. Rupert graded papers and read a lot. When he wasn't doing those things, he was researching, writing, or rehearsing. The second Winter Term we were together, he directed a full production as part of his degree. It was _The Rivals_ by Sheridan. That should have told me something right there," he said dryly.

There was another brief pause before Malcolm went on. "We didn't keep our relationship a secret anymore, but we didn't advertise it either. Fortunately, our schedules didn't match up and we almost never saw one another on campus. The two theatre courses I'd taken in my first year were plenty as far as the university was concerned, so I didn't take any more until my final term. That way there could be no question of misconduct if someone from the university questioned us."

Trip wasn't sure if he was impressed or disturbed by the pragmatic way Malcolm seemed to have approached this earlier relationship. "You really thought it all out didn't you?" he said. 

"Rupert did," Malcolm corrected him. "And I let him. I was happy to leave the genuine responsibilities to him while I played at being an independent adult."

He paused once more and considered where to pick up his tale. "Looking back, I can see it was around the beginning of our third year together that things began to fall apart. Unfortunately I didn't see it at the time. Who does?" he asked rhetorically.

* * *

Malcolm rolled over in the big bed and opened his eyes. His smile turned to a puzzled frown when he discovered he was alone. "Rupert?" he called out, sitting up and looking around the dimly lit room. Late-summer sunlight filtered in around the window blinds. It was going to be a lovely day.

Determining that he was indeed alone, Malcolm rose and pulled his navy blue robe over his naked body. He padded barefoot across the rugs that covered the hardwood floor in a random sort of patchwork and opened the door.

Finding the bathroom and sitting room both empty, he moved on to the kitchen. There he found his lover in the dining nook, hunched over the table that was piled high with datapads and several books. Rupert was in the final stages of finishing his Master's Degree and was correspondingly swamped with study. He didn't move when Malcolm entered the room. He obviously hadn't heard his young lover come in.

Malcolm sneaked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. "Good morning," he murmured, nuzzling Rupert's ear. "I missed you in the bed."

"Mmmm," Rupert all but purred, leaning back into Malcolm's strong embrace. "Sorry, baby. I couldn't sleep."

Malcolm nipped his earlobe teasingly, taking a moment to gently tug his lover's earring with his teeth. "Studying?"

"Trying. I'm down to the wire."

"I know." Malcolm released his hold and rested his hands on Rupert's shoulders. "The date's been highlighted in red in your calendar for over a year. D'you want me to make you some tea?"

Rupert turned tired eyes on Malcolm and smiled. "That would be splendid." He took Malcolm's hand in his own and kissed it lightly. "Thanks."

Malcolm smiled hugely. He loved to get lost in Rupert's ice-blue eyes. He could easily spend hours just studying the older man's ruggedly handsome face—and he looked even more rugged than usual that morning. He obviously hadn't shaved since the previous day; golden brown stubble covered his jaw.

"Hey, hey," prompted Rupert when Malcolm didn't move. "Tea?"

"Sorry." Malcolm practically jumped to make the tea. He filled the kettle with fresh water and lit the stove before rinsing the earthenware teapot with hot tap water. "Will you be working all day today?" he asked as he measured several spoonfuls of tealeaves into the pot.

"Yes, baby. I told you I'm down to the wire." Rupert's tone was noticeably irritated, but somehow Malcolm failed to notice it.

"Only I'd hoped we could go to the Imperial War Museum today. And maybe we could go see the show at the Globe tonight? I checked it out. They're running _Henry VI, Part 1_ right now. I know how you like Shakespeare's histories." Malcolm's words were off-hand, but someone who knew him well and bothered to listen would have been able to tell this was important to him.

But Rupert wasn't listening. "What?" He looked up distractedly from his work. "What were you saying?"

"Just that I thought we could spend the day together in town. That's all."

Now Rupert grew annoyed. "I can't. You know that. I don't have the time to waste."

Malcolm's face fell although he tried not to show it. Rupert actually managed to notice his disappointment and held out a hand to the younger man. Malcolm stepped close enough to grasp it.

"Don't look sad, baby," Rupert said in a conciliatory voice. "You know it won't be much longer and I'll have plenty of free time."

"I just don't understand why you can't let it wait a day or two. Fall Term doesn't begin for another week," Malcolm almost whined.

"Which means I only have one more week to get this done. Come on, Malcolm, why are you acting like this?"

But Malcolm kept his real reason to himself. "I just think you're working too hard. You deserve a day off."

"I'll have a day off—"

Malcolm cut him off. "In another three or four years when you've completed your doctorate, too," he finished disappointedly. "And then you'll become a professor somewhere rural and uncivilized."

Rupert gave him a sardonic look. "I think I'll have an open day or two between now and then," he said dryly. "Now stop pouting. The water's boiling."

"I'm not pouting," countered Malcolm, going to the stove and pouring out the hot water into the teapot. It was an archaic ritual, but it was how Rupert preferred his tea, so that was how Malcolm prepared it every time._ I just thought it would be nice to spend my birthday in town with my boyfriend._

* * *

"Hang on, hang on," interrupted Trip. "He forgot your birthday?"

Malcolm nodded.

"And he treated you like a damn doormat!" the engineer went on indignantly.

"And I let him," added Malcolm. "I'd never been in love before; I'd certainly never been in a serious relationship before. I thought that was the way it worked. I suppose I could blame my parents for my misconception, but that wouldn't be fair to my mother. But that's another matter entirely."

"How—?" Trip paused, trying to find a polite way to say what he wanted to say. Finally he decided there was no reason to be polite where Rupert Murray was concerned. "How could you fall in love with such an asshole?"

"I didn't," Malcolm contradicted him. "The man I fell in love with was warm and caring. Admittedly he was a bit self-centered at times, but everyone has those moments."

"Sounds less like just 'moments' to me."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I was inexperienced and insecure. He gave me what I needed to feel like I mattered to someone. I felt loved."

"But it wasn't fair for him to take you for granted like that! That's not love!" Trip was angry on his partner's behalf and helpless to do anything about it. The indignities Malcolm had suffered were years ago and light-years away. "You're worth so much more than that," he finished helplessly.

Malcolm shrugged. "I didn't think so. It never occurred to me that there could be anything more than what I had. I genuinely believed I was lucky for having someone like him."

Trip shook his head in disbelief. "So you just put up with him treating you like that for two years?"

"I put up with it a lot longer than that."

"For Christ's sake, _why_?" Trip practically erupted again.

"Sheer stubbornness, I suppose." Malcolm gave him a deliberately sardonic look. "Not that I'm ever stubborn." His attempt at levity failed. Trip didn't even smile.

"But You" Trip didn't know what he was trying to say. He was incredulous. He simply couldn't wrap his mind around the image of Malcolm fawning over some arrogant theatre snob. "How long?"

But Malcolm chose not to answer him directly. If he was going to tell Trip everything, he couldn't leap ahead to the end. "Rupert earned his Master's Degree and we celebrated. Even though it was weeks later, I pretended in my mind that we were celebrating my birthday, too." He shook his head at himself. "Pathetic and childish, I know."

"No, it wasn't," Trip said, even though there was more than a hint of pathos about Malcolm's admission. Trip's heart ached for him. He longed to reach out to him, but suspected that wasn't what Malcolm wanted at that moment. Instead, he asked, "Why didn't you remind him?"

"I didn't want to spoil his evening and make him feel badly for forgetting. It was just a birthday."

"Christ, Malcolm!" Trip erupted. "If it mattered to you, it should have mattered to him!"

"Trip," said Malcolm firmly. His tone was enough to stop the engineer mid-tirade.

"I'm sorry. Go on. No, wait," he immediately contradicted himself. "Is there much more?"

Malcolm thought over his answer before speaking. "Enough."

"Then can we maybe get ready for bed before going on? I promise I won't fall asleep." In truth, if the rest of the story was anything like what he'd heard already, Trip knew he would be too angry to sleep for several hours.

"All right. I could use a break."

Trip rose and held out a hand to Malcolm. He was pleased when Malcolm took it and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. They undressed in silence, each man caught up in his thoughts.

Malcolm mulled over all the myriad memories of his years with Rupert. Looking back, even the times he remembered as good and happy seemed to carry a sinister pall. He wondered if anything Rupert had ever said or done was genuine or if it had all been some elaborate ruse. _No,_ he thought. _Be realistic. He was clever, but I can't believe he would have gone to all that effort. It had to have been real at some point. There had to have been something._ He couldn't allow himself to believe otherwise.

Trip simmered with powerless anger. The mental image of a young and innocent Malcolm being taken advantage of by some self-absorbed bastard infuriated him. The fact that Malcolm had allowed himself to be used like that made it worse. _He's a strong, competent, self-reliant man,_ thought Trip. _How could he let someone do that to him?_ Then it occurred to him that it wasn't entirely true. Malcolm certainly was all of those things, but Trip knew the side of him that others never saw. He knew the insecure man afraid to care for someone in case that someone hurt him—the man Rupert Murray appeared to have exploited.

"I really will kick his ass," Trip said aloud as he put on pajama pants and headed toward the lav.

Malcolm finished pulling his t-shirt on over his head. "What?" he asked through the closed lav door, uncertain what his partner had said. He heard the head flush, and Trip opened the door again.

"Nothing," Trip replied. He didn't think Malcolm needed him verbally attacking his old lover right now. It was obvious in every word he said, in every little nuance of his voice and body, that this was difficult enough for him without Trip bursting out with threats and insults every two minutes.

Malcolm didn't pursue the matter. He had a fair guess what Trip had said; he didn't really need confirmation. He took his turn at the head, and then both men cleaned their teeth. Trip went back to the bed while Malcolm got himself a glass of cold water. All the talking had made his mouth dry. He drained the glass thirstily, then refilled it.

When he re-entered the cabin, Trip had settled himself under the covers, pillows behind his back as he leaned against the bulkhead.

When Malcolm hesitated to join him, Trip said, "Come on. You can talk just as well with my arms around you as you can without. So have a seat." He opened his arms and gestured for Malcolm to sit with him.

Malcolm held a quick and silent debate with himself before shaking his head. "No, I can't." Once again, he took a spot at the foot of the bed, but this time instead of sitting stiffly on the edge, he leaned back against the bulkhead at right angles from Trip. He stretched out his pajama-clad legs across the bunk, his glass of water held loosely in both hands.

Trip watched as Malcolm made himself as comfortable as he could in the circumstances. He was terribly disappointed that his partner had declined to sit with him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Malcolm and make all the pain of his past go away.

"It took another two years for me to complete my undergraduate studies," Malcolm began his tale once more. "By then Rupert was deep into his doctoral program. I briefly considered going for a Master's Degree, but Rupert and I decided against it."

"The two of you decided, huh?" interjected Trip skeptically. "Why was it any of his business?"

Malcolm gave him a tired and mildly irked look. "I could give you all sorts of explanations, but none would satisfy you. They don't even satisfy me. Now, should I go on?"

Trip nodded. "Sorry. Go on."

"I started looking for work. I'd studied plasma physics, chemistry, engineering. I'd always been interested in weapons and defensive systems and I reckoned there had to be a market for it somewhere—other than the Royal Navy, that is. I still wasn't going to give my father that satisfaction. Even then he held out hope that I'd 'come to my senses', as he put it." He sighed heavily. "Sometimes I think maybe I should have just given in, but I know it would have been another mistake. In the end it became a choice between staying and making Rupert happy or leaving and making my father happy."

"What about you?" Trip wanted to know. "Didn't you think about what would make _you_ happy?"

"I thought I had, but I didn't realize until much later that it wasn't me I was trying to please. I'd heard of Starfleet, you see, but I didn't seriously consider it."

"Because of Rupert, of course," said Trip sardonically and with a hint of jealously in his voice.

"Of course," echoed Malcolm flatly.

"So did you find something? A job, I mean."

"Yes, but nothing that had anything to do with my degree. There really isn't a market for what I do outside the military or Starfleet. I found a job in commercial shipping, of all things. Scheduling inspections, maintenance, and upgrades for the company's vessels. It was tedious at times, but it kept me busy during the days while Rupert was studying. Unfortunately it didn't keep me busy in the evenings when he was often out."

"Out where?" Trip wanted to know.

"At one of university's theatres or libraries, usually. He had another production to complete as part of his doctoral program."

"Damn. I had no idea theatre was that much work."

Malcolm gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know that it is, necessarily. I mean he did do a lot of hard work, but not all those nights were spent on that."

Trip frowned. "What do you mean?"

Malcolm cleared his throat and took a swallow of water before answering. "He came home very late a lot of nights. I didn't think about it because I was usually asleep when he got in. Sometimes I'd wake up when I heard the shower come on or when he came to bed, but not always. I was a much heavier sleeper then," he added bitterly.

"And you never even questioned him?"

"I didn't see the need. It's quite normal for theatre people to come home after midnight and then sleep late in the mornings. It's the nature of the beast. And I had no reason to suspect anything. I told you, I believed we were happy. What little free time we had we spent together. We often took day trips out of London to the different historical sites outside the city. Sometimes we'd spend a weekend in Edinburgh or Cardiff. We even managed a few short trips to Paris and one to Munich.

"That was all before he began his doctoral program, though," Malcolm went on. "After that he simply didn't have the time to spare, and even on the rare occasion when he did, he was always too stressed about what he felt he ought to be doing instead of having fun."

Trip nodded. "I know people like that," he said. While he didn't want to say anything that would defend Malcolm's ex-lover, he did want to support Malcolm. Trip didn't want him to feel he'd been completely blind and gullible—even if Trip thought he had. _I wasn't there,_ he chided himself. _I don't really know what happened, so it's easy for me to pass judgment._

"Of course, now I can see that things were going sour," Malcolm said. "But it takes someone more self-aware than I was then to see it when it happens."

* * *

Malcolm opened his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom. Something had disturbed his sleep. He lay there, silent and unmoving, for several moments. Then the light in the bathroom came on, spilling into the hallway and around the crack of the open bedroom door. He smiled and closed his eyes. Rupert was home.

He fell back to sleep only to wake again slightly when Rupert slipped smoothly into the bed next to him. He was fresh from the shower and smelled of sandalwood soap.

Malcolm rolled over to face him. "Hello," he mumbled, barely awake. He blinked sleepy blue eyes.

"Hey there, baby," Rupert cooed softly back. He reached out a tender hand and stroked the younger man's rough cheek, consequently blocking the tiny light of clock on the nightstand behind him.

"Smell good," Malcolm smiled, inhaling the fresh, warm scent of his lover. "How was rehearsal?"

"Fine. We finished blocking act two. Now go back to sleep. It's late."

"Mmm." Malcolm closed his eyes willingly, murmuring, "Time 's it?"

"Past twelve."

"Glad you're home."

"Me too, baby. Now sleep."

It took only moments for Malcolm's breathing to deepen. He never saw the blue glow of the clock telling him it was not just "past twelve". It was in fact two and a half hours past twelve.

*****

Malcolm finished shaving, brushed his teeth, and ran a comb through his freshly washed hair. He checked his watch—6:48. He had a little time before he had to catch the tube to work, and he had a fun idea of how he could spend it.

He made a quick stop in the kitchen to light the stove and prep a pot of strong tea. Leaving the kettle to come slowly to a boil over low heat, he slipped off to the bedroom. Rupert laid there asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. Malcolm smiled at the sight, then untied the belt on his bathrobe. Letting it fall open, he knelt on the bed and leaned over his sleeping lover. He caught Rupert's earlobe gently with his lips and teased it with his tongue.

Rupert mumbled something in his sleep and rolled away. Malcolm crept over him, moving stealthily. He leaned down again and this time whispered, "Good morning, lover-boy." He smiled as Rupert's eyes opened a fraction. "I have a little time before work," he said suggestively.

"Bugger off, Malcolm," Rupert grumbled.

Malcolm smirked a little, unfazed. He knew his lover wasn't a morning person; he'd met such resistance before. He pushed back the covers and reached underneath. "Come on," he breathed, taking Rupert's hand and guiding it to his own burgeoning erection.

Rupert woke more fully as he yanked his hand out of Malcolm's grasp. "Malcolm, I said no. I'm knackered and I've got to get some sleep so I can work on my thesis before going to rehearsal tonight. Now piss off."

Malcolm felt like he'd been physically slapped. He backed off and stood. "Fine," he replied sharply. He crossed to the dresser and grabbed a pair of underwear from the drawer. He pulled them on and strode angrily to the closet where he hung up his robe and selected a pair of khaki slacks and a green shirt. He dressed in silence, then took a pair of socks from a drawer and picked up his brown loafers. "I'll see you when I get home from work."

"I may be gone by then," Rupert replied.

Malcolm tensed at his words. "Fine," he repeated, and stalked out. He stopped in the kitchen just long enough to shut off the stove with an angry snap. He grabbed his leather coat from the rack by the door and stormed out into the chilly morning air.

*****

It was a particularly cold evening with the scent of a freeze in the air. Malcolm huddled inside his heavy winter coat and hurried down the steps to the Underground. He caught the tube home and relaxed a little in the warm interior, made even warmer by all the commuters on their way home from work.

A week had passed since the morning of the spat he'd had with Rupert. It had never been mentioned between them again, but it gnawed at Malcolm's mind. _He's stressed out,_ he reminded himself. _His show opens in less than two weeks now, and he still has to finish his dissertation. Even then he'll still have to defend it before the dons._ Malcolm felt badly for his partner; it wasn't Rupert's fault that he was under so much pressure.

_I should do something nice for him,_ he thought. _Something that will help him relax a bit._ He reached into the pocket of his wool coat and pulled out a small datapad.

He'd long ago accepted that his lover was a very, very busy individual. If Malcolm wanted to make plans with him, he had to have Rupert's schedule in his own pad. Equally, he always made sure his own meager plans were programmed into his partner's datapad. It wasn't difficult to keep track of Malcolm's life, but Rupert still had insisted that he have the younger man's calendar, too.

The day the rehearsal schedule for Rupert's show was finalized, Malcolm had downloaded it. He smiled to see that the coming Friday was clear of rehearsals or meetings with advisors, anything that might take Rupert out of the apartment. That gave Malcolm three days to plan. He could surprise him with something special. Malcolm's smile broadened as several ideas leapt to mind.

*****

There was a light tap on the open door of Malcolm's office. "_Bon jour_, Malcolm!" a tall, dark-haired woman greeted him cheerfully.

"Geneviève," he replied, startled. He blinked owlishly at the clock in the corner of his computer screen, then out the small window to his right. "Is it that time already?"

"_Absolutement_," she answered. "Ten o'clock precisely." Her eyes narrowed as she took in the tired slump of his shoulders. "You look like you could use your morning tea even more than I need my morning _café_ today."

Malcolm stretched and heard his shoulders pop loudly. "I think you may be right."

"Of course I'm right. Now hop to! I'm ready to go." She buttoned up her warm coat to emphasize her point.

"So I see." He pushed his chair back from his desk and rose. Grabbing his own coat from behind the door, he joined her in the hallway. They caught the lift to street level and stepped out into the cold winter wind.

Geneviève shivered. "I hate the cold," she muttered as they turned left and walked quickly along the sidewalk.

"Then why do you live in London?"

"Because this is where Isabelle's school is. When she's grown, I have every intention of moving back to Morocco."

"I'll believe it when it happens," Malcolm teased. It was an old conversation they'd had many times over the months they'd worked together at the shipping company. Each knew what the other would say as well as they knew their own parts.

They reached their usual café and went inside. Geneviève immediately relaxed in the warm interior. "Ahh," she sighed happily, inhaling the heady scent of rich coffees and freshly brewing teas.

Malcolm chuckled and smiled a little. It was a ritual she went through every time they entered the shop, whether winter or summer.

They placed their orders and found a small, round table as far from the door as possible in the little place. The pair waited in companionable silence until a waiter brought them their drinks. While Geneviève immediately poured her thick Turkish coffee into a demitasse and spooned in copious sugar, Malcolm waited patiently for his Assam tea to brew properly.

Once Geneviève had sampled her concoction, she was more inclined to chat. "So," she began, "do you have any big plans this weekend?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No. Rupert's rehearsing most of the weekend. But" He hesitated. He hadn't yet figured out what to do to surprise his partner and he had only today and tomorrow to plan. He knew Geneviève didn't like Rupert even though she'd only met him once. Bringing up his plan for Friday was a risky venture, but he desperately needed help if he was going to make the evening work.

Geneviève sipped her coffee and arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "But?" she prompted.

"He has Friday night free and I want to surprise him, only I have no idea what to do. I thought it would be nice to cook for him."

"I thought you didn't like to cook."

"It's not that I don't like to," Malcolm hedged, although cooking really wasn't his favorite thing. "I'm just not very good at it—although I've gotten better since living with Rupert. He'd have starved ages ago if I didn't make sure he ate once in a while."

Geneviève frowned and set her demitasse on its tiny saucer. "You're too good to that man," she declared decisively.

It was the opening line of the same argument they'd had nearly every time Malcolm mentioned his home life. Even simply saying Rupert's name would set Geneviève off some days. Apparently this was one of those days.

"He uses you," she continued before Malcolm could so much as open his mouth to protest. "You cook for him, take care of him, make excuses for him. What has he ever done for you?"

Malcolm sighed and poured himself a cup of steaming tea, mentally tuning out her diatribe. It was nothing he hadn't heard a score of times before. _I should have known better,_ he thought. "Never mind," he said aloud, interrupting her.

Brought up short, Geneviève paused only long enough to catch her breath and take a sip of coffee. "No, no. I'm sorry." She controlled her temper with more skill than she controlled her expression, but she did manage to keep from scowling outright. "So why don't you cook for him?" she asked, drawing the conversation back on topic.

Malcolm hesitated warily, but he really was down to the wire and out of ideas. "I want it to be special," he admitted, almost embarrassed by his own sentimentality. "I have no idea what to make."

"This goes against my better judgment," Geneviève said, eyeing him sharply, "but I'll help you."

"You'll help me?" Malcolm inquired dubiously.

She nodded once. Her voice held the unmistakable tone he'd heard her use on a many a difficult client—a tone that none of them ever dared argue with more than once if they were smart. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Do I need a reason to help my friend?" she countered archly. But she gave him one anyway. "If you're happy, then I'm happy for you."

Malcolm decided to be smart and not argue. Geneviève's motivations were her own at all times, and he really needed her help. "All right."

"You like Moroccan food?"

He nodded.

"I'll write down everything you need to know to fix a romantic feast for two that won't leave you feeling so full you can't enjoy a bit of dessert, too." She gave him a look that clearly meant dessert might be something other than food.

Malcolm flushed and took a sip of tea to hide his discomfiture. She had a way of making him feel like a teenager caught in the backseat of his boyfriend's car. He supposed it was because she had a teenage daughter at home. He felt a flash of sympathy for the girl he'd never even met. Still, he appreciated that she was willing to help him, even if she didn't think he was doing the right thing. "Thank you," he mumbled, not meeting her keen gaze.

He could sense Geneviève watching him carefully. Malcolm harbored the suspicion that she enjoyed teasing him. Usually he didn't really mind; it reminded him of they way his little sister Madeline used to tease him. In an odd way it made him feel like he belonged. On this particular occasion, however, her uncanny accuracy made him squirm.

Geneviève went on confidently. "Yes. When you're done feeding him, he'd have to be a fool not to whisk you off to bed for a night of wild passion." Her eyes twinkled as Malcolm turned a vibrant shade of fuchsia.

Malcolm reminded himself that she was only guessing. She had no way of knowing that this was precisely what he wanted, despite his nearly mortified reaction to her words. He wanted nothing more than to please Rupert so much that the older man would spend the rest of the night making love with him. It had been too long since they had spent a night together like that.

*****

The stage was set with great care. Malcolm had done his best to make the small dining nook look more like a booth in a Moroccan restaurant than the addendum to the kitchen it really was. Sumptuous purple fabric draped the nook's opening and he'd removed the table and chairs, replacing them with the low, round coffee table from the sitting room and a number of plush pillows he'd bought the previous evening. A row of richly colored candles waited on the windowsill. He would light them just before Rupert and he sat down.

He finished up the _mise en place_ for the three courses he was preparing. He'd enlisted the help of Geneviève, not only in deciding on the dishes, but also in gathering the ingredients. She had assured him everything was easy to make if he simply followed the directions, which he did with meticulous care. So far she'd been right; everything was running with clockwork precision.

Malcolm checked the time and smiled. If he put the lamb in the oven now, he could have a quick shower while it was roasting. "Perfect," he said aloud to the empty flat. He got the lamb going and headed to the bedroom. On his way, though, he made a brief side trip into the sitting room and called up the music he'd programmed for the evening. Immediately traditional Middle Eastern music began to play softly throughout the flat.

He smiled again, well pleased with his efforts. He entered the bedroom where he did a quick check of the items on the nightstand to be certain everything was ready for after dinner. Next, he laid out the clothes he intended to wear. Satisfied, he grabbed his navy blue robe and headed to the bathroom.

He hung the robe on the hook behind the door and started the shower before stripping off his clothes and tossing them into the laundry bin. Stepping into the shower, he sighed happily. Hot water coursed over him, relaxing muscles he hadn't realized were tense. He picked up the bar of sandalwood soap that Rupert favored and used it to wash away the workday, the cooking smells, and the sweat he'd built up prepping for the evening.

As he washed himself with the spicy scented soap, he closed his eyes and thought of his lover. The smell would forever be tied to Rupert in Malcolm's mind—warm, spicy, woody. He ran soapy hands along his naked body, reveling in the softness of the suds as they slicked over his skin. His penis grew hard at the combination of scent, touch, and anticipation. He took his erection in one slippery hand and stroked it lightly, felt it grow harder still at his touch. Malcolm forced himself to stop the heady sensation before it went too far. He wanted to be full and ready for Rupert tonight, and masturbating now would lessen the impact later.

He turned down the hot water and shivered under the cooler flow that cascaded down on him. It had the desired effect. The pressure in his groin faded to a more manageable level. He promptly rinsed off the remains of the soap and shut off the tap.

Concerned that he'd fallen behind in his planned schedule for the evening, Malcolm dried himself quickly. He donned his robe and returned to the bedroom to dress. A quick glance at the clock on Rupert's nightstand confirmed his fears. His dalliance in the shower had cost him time; Rupert was due home in less than thirty minutes.

Malcolm dressed in black slacks, a rich brown shirt that Rupert had once told him brought out the blue in his eyes, black socks, and highly polished wing-tip shoes. Content that he was ready for his surprise date, Malcolm returned to the kitchen.

The whole flat had begun to smell like roasting lamb and exotic spices. He inhaled, pleased. He'd never been much of a chef, but he thought he'd done a respectable job. Opening the oven to take a peek at his creation, he nodded in satisfaction. _Just like Geneviève said it should be,_ he thought.

He went to the fridge and pulled out the salad he'd made earlier, then began heating broth for the couscous. Everything was coming together perfectly, and Malcolm went so far as to dance a little to the music that played. He was happy with his efforts to create such a wonderful surprise for his lover.

*****

An hour later, Malcolm was no longer so cheerful. Rupert was forty minutes overdue, and he had sent no word. Malcolm refrained from calling the older man as long as he could. Rupert had chided him more than once for being a worrywart and a mother hen; he didn't want to seem like he was being so again. But dinner was ready, waiting, and getting cold, and he had no clue what had happened to his lover.

He went to the bedroom where he'd left his personal communicator and called Rupert.

"Malcolm?" the older man replied. "What is it?"

He sounded distracted and Malcolm worried that he'd caught Rupert in the middle of something important. "Where are you?" he asked.

"What? I'm at rehearsal. Where else would I be?"

Malcolm was surprised, and he frowned. "You don't have a rehearsal scheduled for tonight," he replied. "I checked the calendar."

"I added it last week. We're heading into hell week, you know. We needed an extra rehearsal."

"Well I wish you'd told me." Malcolm fought to keep his tone even, but he couldn't help but reveal a hint of petulance and disappointment. He thought he heard something in the background over the comm line and his frown deepened. "Who's that?"

"My leading man's in the middle of a monologue," Rupert replied, an odd quality to his voice. "Now I've got to go."

"When will you be home?" Malcolm wanted to know before he would let his lover off the hook.

"I don't know, baby. Late. Probably very late. Now I've got to go."

The line went dead, but not before Malcolm heard laughter in the background. "I had no idea _Hamlet_ was a comedy," he muttered to himself tartly.

He shut off the communicator and tossed it negligently onto the dresser where it clattered against the framed photo of Rupert and him from their brief vacation to Paris three summers ago. The picture toppled at the impact, landing face down on the wooden surface. Malcolm didn't bother to right it. Instead he crossed to his nightstand and picked up the bottle of sandalwood scented lube he'd purchased specially and chucked it into the rubbish bin.

Malcolm walked deliberately through the flat, turning off the music in the sitting room before returning to the kitchen. All his careful plans now seemed pointless and stupid. He looked at the fabric and cushions in the breakfast nook and snorted at himself in disgust. _What was I thinking?_ he wondered rhetorically. _I should have known this wouldn't work. I should give up on surprises. They're nothing but hard work and disappointment._

Now he had a choice: he could eat the feast he'd prepared alone, wait for Rupert to eventually return and hope that everything reheated nicely, or call it a wash and toss it all out. The last option appealed, but he hated to have all his efforts be a complete waste.

Another thought struck him and he rushed back to the bedroom. Shoving the fallen photo aside, he picked up the communicator and called Geneviève, who had so generously shared her culinary expertise.

"Hello?"

"Geneviève, it's Malcolm," he said without preamble.

"What are you doing calling? Oughtn't you be in the midst of your hot date?"

"Yes, well That fell through." He had no intention of going into detail, but she at least deserved an answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Geneviève replied, clearly unsurprised but genuinely disappointed on his behalf.

"I'll survive, but the food won't. I wondered, shall I bring it over to you? There's more than I could possibly eat. I thought maybe you and Isabelle might enjoy it? It's turned out pretty well, I think. I never could have made it without your help, so" He trailed off.

"You're sure? I don't want anyone to go hungry." Her tone belied her words, but Malcolm chose to ignore it.

"Rupert can eat what he finds in the fridge when he gets home," he replied decisively.

Geneviève's voice brightened. "Good for you! All right, then. You bring the food over, and of course you will stay and eat with us." Her tone brooked no argument, so Malcolm gave her none. He knew well enough that there would be no point in debating the matter. And when it came right down to it, he found he wanted a bit of company tonight.

"I need your address," he said. She gave it to him and he immediately input it in the communicator so he wouldn't forget it. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," he told her and closed the line.

*****

In the weeks following the failed surprise date, Malcolm felt more and more shut out of Rupert's life. He tried to convince himself that it was merely because of Rupert's incredibly busy and stressful life. _There's so little time until he has to turn in and defend his dissertation,_ Malcolm told himself for the millionth time. _Of course he's distracted. Of course he doesn't have time for me. But it will all change soon._ Unfortunately, it had been quite some time since he'd found his own arguments convincing.

There was a distance growing between them, and he could think of nothing to prevent it. Every attempt he made to talk to Rupert was brushed aside as the older man hurried off to do yet more research at one of London's many libraries. If Malcolm tried to broach the subject at night when they were in bed together, Rupert routinely claimed fatigue and refused to discuss anything. Of course, more often than not, Malcolm fell asleep alone. He was accustomed to his lover's late nights and now routinely woke when Rupert climbed into bed with him in the middle of the night. But Malcolm never acknowledged his arrival. He simply kept his eyes shut, inhaled the scent of sandalwood, and returned to restless sleep.

Last night had been one of those nights. Malcolm had slept poorly before and after Rupert joined him. He rose early as a result and, for the first time in his life, called in sick to work when he wasn't actually ill. Hoping a shower would perk him up, he took an extra long one. Unfortunately, he felt just as tired after as he had before.

He returned to the bedroom and dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt. All the while Rupert slept on, oblivious to Malcolm's presence. He looked at the sleeping man in envy and irritation. _How can he sleep so soundly while I've become a bloody insomniac?_ Malcolm thought angrily. He shook his head and left the room.

Still not really ready for breakfast, Malcolm instead entered the sitting room, closing the door behind him. He moved to the window, looking out over the view of London that had changed little in the nearly six years he'd lived in the flat. He knelt on the leather sofa and stared out at the cold spring sunshine filtering weakly through gray clouds.

Slowly he turned his back on London and looked around the room. The fireplace in the wall to his left was cold; it hadn't been used in over a year and the luxury of it had been replaced by futility in Malcolm's mind. The wall all around it was full of shelves of Rupert's books and scripts. The longer wall directly across from him boasted a huge painting by someone modern. Malcolm never bothered to remember the artist's name because he'd never really liked the man's style. His eyes skimmed past the closed door to the wall on his right. The door there was also shut, but he knew if he opened it he would find only boxes of Rupert's mementos—school papers, certificates, playbills, reviews, trinkets given to him by actors on opening or closing night of whatever show he had directed.

Beyond the closet door were more shelves, this time with a small number of framed photographs and a sloppy stack of sheet music. In the corner stood a guitar. Malcolm used to love hearing Rupert play the guitar. He would sing in a pure and soulful voice, and Malcolm would find himself caught up in it, carried away on the words and the notes.

Now it all just seemed like pretentious rubbish. He sat up straighter, fighting a sudden urge to grab the guitar and chuck it through the window. At the same moment, revelation struck him painfully in the heart.

_Nothing in this room is mine. Not even the photographs._ The one picture of Malcolm and Rupert together had been taken when they were on vacation over four years ago. All the others were snapshots from Rupert's theatrical productions, or images of his family or friends. In all the years they'd been together Malcolm hadn't even met his partner's family and, unlike his own, they actually lived in England.

"This isn't where I belong anymore," he said aloud to the empty room. Or so he thought.

"Talking to yourself again, Malcolm?" asked a snide and slightly condescending voice. "That's a sure sign you're finally losing it, you know. Just as I suspected."

Rain began to patter lightly at the window behind Malcolm. He looked up and found himself staring at Rupert. "I didn't hear you come in," he said dully.

"That's because you were lost in your own little world, as usual." Rupert leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Thinking."

Rupert snorted derisively. "Really? I had no idea."

Malcolm turned sharp eyes on him. "Is there any way I could possibly interpret that comment as inoffensive?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rupert shrugged. "It means whatever you want to believe it means, Malcolm." He pushed away from the wall and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Malcolm asked, rising from the sofa and following him out into the hallway.

"I'm turning in my dissertation today," Rupert answered, not looking back. "I have to get dressed."

They entered the bedroom and Rupert went to the closet for slacks, a shirt, and a tie.

"You're certainly going formal," remarked Malcolm with a hint of suspicion and sarcasm in his voice.

"Never hurts to make a good impression on your advisor, you know." He removed his sweatpants and began to dress quickly.

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know."

"Why not? You're just going to turn it in and come home, aren't you?"

"I haven't decided," Rupert replied sharply. He tucked in his shirt, zipped up his pants, and reached for his tie.

Malcolm watched him fumble with the tie for several moments. "If you dressed up more often, you'd be better at that," he pointed out nastily.

"Jesus, Malcolm," spat Rupert. "When did you become such a bitch?"

"The day you started treating me like your mongrel dog, I expect," Malcolm countered angrily.

Rupert stopped what he was doing and turned a condescending sneer on the younger man. "Don't fool yourself, baby. It hasn't been that long."

Malcolm was shocked into confused silence. He sat heavily on the corner of the bed.

Rupert finished tying his tie, then shoved his feet unceremoniously into his shoes. He tied the laces quickly while Malcolm continued to gape at him. He smirked again. "Trying to work that one out, are you? Good luck." He left the bedroom, grabbed the datapad containing his final revision of his dissertation from the kitchen table, pulled on his raincoat, and left the flat.

Malcolm continued to sit there for several moments after he heard the front door slam. His spinning mind couldn't quite make out what Rupert's parting gibe had meant. _He's always treated me well up until recentlyhasn't he? So what changed and when? What did I do to make him so angry?_

Another part of his mind answered him. _Why does it have to be something I did? Why is it all my fault?_

The thought brought him up short. Until that moment he had blindly assumed that it was something in him that was driving his lover away. He even had difficulty thinking of Rupert as his lover any more; it had been ages since they'd had sex, longer still since they had made love. They were more like roommates who happened to share a bed occasionally.

The voice in his head took on a feminine quality, and he realized he was hearing words Geneviève had spoken the night he'd visited her and her daughter with the fruits of his failed surprise date. _Every relationship requires two people. How long has it been since there were two people in this one?_

It was a very good question, and one he couldn't answer definitively then or now. He needed to see Rupert again right away. He stood and went quickly to the closet. He pulled on trainers over his bare feet and headed for the front door. Grabbing his leather jacket from the rack, he yanked it on as he left the flat.

The spring rain was chilly and he zipped up his jacket against it as he hurried around the corner and down into the Underground. He caught the tube line that took him directly to campus. He knew the name of Rupert's advisor and what building his office was in. He would simply find the right office and wait outside until he emerged.

Unfortunately, when he found the office he was looking for, Rupert had already been there and gone.

Malcolm left the building and stood under the overhang outside the front door, watching the rain pour down. It had picked up significantly since he'd left his flat, but he didn't mind. He preferred the warm rain of Malaysia where he'd spent much of his childhood, but the cold rain of London also had its comforts. 

He looked around at the huge brick square before him. It was late morning and most of the classes were in session. A few students and fewer professors hurried through the rain, looking neither left nor right as they rushed for cover.

Turning up his collar against the wet, Malcolm stepped out into the rain. He hadn't been on campus since his graduation, and he suddenly remembered how much he had enjoyed his time there. He headed across the square toward the science buildings, thinking he might catch one of his old professors between classes.

The building he wanted was across a small quadrangle. He ducked under the covered walkway of the first building and followed it to its end where he dashed the few steps to the next bit of cover. Before long Malcolm reached his destination and went into the building.

He saw no one as he strolled slowly through the hallways. Turning a corner, he reached the lab where the larger projects were built. He paused and looked through the transparent aluminum windows into the cavernous room beyond. A small group of undergraduate students were there, working on what looked like a half-scale replica of Zefram Cochrane's original warp engine.

Malcolm smiled wistfully. He couldn't hear what any of them said, but their intensity was clear in their actions. He felt a sudden ache of loss. He hadn't realized how much he missed the camaraderie that came from working together toward a common goal, from working to create something powerful and useful.

_When was the last time I felt like a part of anything?_ he wondered bleakly. He'd never been one to make friends easily, but being thrust into a group of fellow students had forced him to forge relationships. Unfortunately, he'd lost track of his university colleagues pretty quickly after graduation. He knew some had gone on to industry jobs with Britain's military branches. Beyond that, he had no clue where any of them might be now.

Then something that he'd all but forgotten about suddenly leapt to mind. He turned quickly and hurried to the student lounge. There, hanging on the bulletin board just as it had though his undergraduate years, was the electronic flier for Starfleet. Malcolm yanked his datapad from his inside jacket pocket and used it to download the information the flier provided. He'd had the information once, but long ago deleted it. Joining Starfleet would have meant leaving Rupert behind and he hadn't ever thought he could do that. Now he wasn't so sure.

The rain eased up by the time he was back outside so instead of heading directly home, he decided to go to the nearby pub that students often frequented. It had never been his favorite place, but he knew he could be in company and still be alone there. He glanced at his watch. It was just before noon. If he was quick, he could get to the pub and claim a table in a secluded corner before the lunch rush struck. He walked purposefully back across campus and out onto the busy street that fronted it. Turning left, he walked the three blocks to the pub and went inside.

It was an old establishment in an even older building, boasting the heavy wooden beams and dark paneling of the era in which it was built. The light inside was warm and inviting—bright enough to read the tap list on the old-fashioned chalkboard, but dim enough that one could move relatively unnoticed should that be one's desire.

Malcolm stepped up to the polished oak bar and ordered a pint of Guinness. While he waited for it, he leaned an elbow on the bar and looked around the room. It was just as he remembered it. A few students were gathered in pairs and groups, their schedules already free for a spot of lunch. Someone laughed riotously; others chatted quietly over their food and drinks.

Something in a secluded corner booth made him look twice. He blinked several times in disbelief and tried to will himself to be wrong. When the couple in the booth kissed more deeply than was strictly appropriate in a public place, he knew he wasn't mistaken.

He turned away quickly and left the pub in a rush. Once out on the street he practically ran to the nearest tube station and dashed inside as if he thought he was being pursued. He gasped for air like a drowning man. Not until he was inside the train speeding on its way did he catch his breath and begin to think clearly about what he'd seen. Tunnel walls sped past between brief stops along the line. Malcolm looked up, finally taking a moment to see where he was.

"Damn it!" he cursed quietly. _I'm not even on the right line._ He got off at the next stop and, too impatient to wait for the lift, climbed the stairs two at a time to the surface. He recognized the area well enough to find his way home by surface streets. He had a long, wet walk ahead of him, but he didn't care. The pouring rain suited his mood.

*****

Malcolm reached the flat soaking wet and shivering. He took off his shoes and left them in the entryway, then hung up his jacket to dry on the coat rack. He padded to the bathroom, uncaring that he left a trail of damp footprints behind him. He turned on the shower, stripped down, and tossed his sodden clothing into the bin in the laundry cupboard.

By the time he finished his hot shower, he had almost convinced himself that he'd misinterpreted what he'd witnessed in the pub. The light had been dim; the couple had been across the room; it hadn't really been Rupert whom he'd seen kissing that other man.

If the man with him had been a stranger, Malcolm might have been successful in his denial. Unfortunately, he recognized the fellow, although it had taken him the entire walk home to pinpoint the face. He didn't remember the man's name, but he knew how to find it. All he had to do was open up the program from Rupert's final production and look to see who had played the lead.

_I wonder if he had to sleep with Rupert to get the part, or if that came later,_ Malcolm mused acidly.

He leaned against the wall of the shower, enjoying the contrast of the cool porcelain against his forehead and arm, and the hot water down his back. _What am I going to do?_

Maybe it's a fling, he thought. _He's been working so hard_

No. Don't make excuses for him, he ordered himself firmly. _Not anymore._ He stood up straight and shut off the water.

He dried himself quickly and went to the bedroom. He stood for a moment, debating with himself before deciding on jeans and a cotton pullover sweater. Part of him wanted to put on his pajamas and crawl into bed for a week, to sleep for days and wake up to find it was all a bad dream. Instead, Malcolm got dressed and went to the kitchen to fix himself some tea.

As he poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot, he paused and silently cursed his actions. Out of habit, he'd prepared the tea the way Rupert liked it rather than simply using the instant hot water from the tap. He placed the lid on the pot in disgust. As he waited for the tea to steep, he stared at the wall in front of him.

"How did I get here?" Once again, Geneviève's words echoed in his head and he couldn't help but voice them to the empty room. "I'm a skilled, highly qualified weapons designer and tactical expert. What am I doing here, wasting my life at a damned shipping company?"

He poured himself a cup of the strong, black tea and sat at the table. Only a moment later, he stood abruptly. Leaving his tea on the kitchen table, he retrieved his datapad from the pocket of his wet coat. He sat back down and turned on the pad, happy to see the rain had caused it no noticeable damage. He called up the file he'd downloaded while in the university's engineering building and began to read.

*****

Malcolm sat in the warm darkness of the sitting room and stared out at the skyline. Cold London rain beat against the window. The fire he'd built hours ago burned low.

He'd left the sitting room's door ajar, hoping and hoping not to hear Rupert return. Then he heard it—the quiet, telltale click of the flat's front door opening and closing; the stealthy footsteps in the entryway. He listened carefully, identifying every one of Rupert's steps and guessing at what the other man was thinking.

Malcolm heard him pause, probably surprised to see the entryway light was off. Plenty of light would be bleeding over from the kitchen—more than enough for him to be able to see well. The footfalls entered the kitchen, which Rupert would find empty but for a dirty mug in the sink and the cold pot of tea on the counter.

Rupert must have paused briefly there, too, looking around the room and out into the hallway where the light was also unusually bright. He would undoubtedly be puzzled. Normally Malcolm left the entryway, kitchen, and hall lights on low when he knew Rupert was coming home late. Malcolm's tidy nature wouldn't let him leave dirty dishes or food sitting out, and he certainly never left his shoes in the front hall. Everything Rupert saw was contrary to Malcolm's usual habits, and anything that strayed from Malcolm's usual habits was cause for puzzlement at best.

The footsteps continued on. Malcolm imagined they sounded warier now, but he suspected he was only projecting.

Slowly, the sitting room door opened all the way. Malcolm couldn't see Rupert's face, backlit as he was by the hallway light, but his form was clearly outlined in the open doorway.

Malcolm didn't move from his spot on the leather sofa. "Welcome home," he said softly.

Rupert started. "Hey, baby," he began in mild surprise. "Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't."

"What are you doing up?" He took a step further into the room. "Are you ill?"

A bitter, humorless smile quirked the corner of Malcolm's mouth. "I'd almost believe you cared, but if you really did you might have asked me this morning when I didn't go to work. Clearly the acting classes you took have served you well."

"What are you talking about?"

Malcolm turned a freezing cold glare on Rupert. "Were you planning on telling me about your boyfriend? Or were you and he having too much fun laughing about me and my incredible gullibility to give me even that tiny speck of respect?"

Malcolm had to give Rupert credit. He didn't squirm or protest or deny anything. "I was going to tell you quite soon, actually," he said. "Once I'd defended my thesis. Before that I didn't want to deal with you wigging out on me. It would have been inconvenient."

Malcolm swallowed the tight, hard lump that threatened to choke him. He couldn't have spoken even if he could have thought of something to say.

"Besides," Rupert went on, cruelly casual, "we each had our guess on whether or not you'd figure it out on your own. He gave you more credit than I did. Said you were bound to figure it out before I said a word. I'll have to tell him you surprised me by proving him right. Tell me, who helped you? You're not smart enough to have worked it out on your own." He snapped his fingers suddenly as if he'd been struck with an epiphany. "It was that bitch from your work, wasn't it? That meddling French cunt. What's her name? I bet she sussed it all out for you, didn't she?"

Malcolm imagined he could feel his heart breaking. Then he violently shoved the puerile and overly dramatic image from his mind. He had no intention of telling Rupert that Geneviève had nothing to do with it, that in fact he hadn't figured out anything until the reality of it had been thrust so vehemently in his face. "How long?" he managed to ask.

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" Rupert countered, an especially ugly note in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.

Malcolm had a brief moment of déjà vu. It was exactly the way he'd stood that morning—before Malcolm's world had fallen apart. "Yes."

"Four years come November," the older man replied evenly, a smug smile curling his lips.

Malcolm felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He fought to keep his breathing steady, to hold back the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. He stared at Rupert, wondering when the man he'd loved had become the spiteful person who faced him now.

Rupert could see his distress and smirked nastily. "My god, you're actually surprised," he said, his voice tinged with hateful amusement, clearly enjoying Malcolm's pain. "You were always pathetically easy to control, but you're thicker than even I imagined."

"Get out," hissed Malcolm through clenched teeth.

"Not a problem, baby. I've been planning on it for quite a while." He pushed away from the wall and stood up straight. There was a wicked light in his ice-blue eyes. "David's got an even sweeter set-up than this place. Posh Soho flat with all the amenities. His folks got it for him. They just dote on their number one son." The spark in his eyes grew equally lustful and vicious as he went on. "I'm sure he'll be pleasantly surprised to see me back there again so soon. He was aching for another round tonight when I told him I had to go. He just loves having my cock up his ass. Such a nice fit, too. Mm!"

Malcolm fought back nausea at the other man's deliberately hurtful words. He held his face and body perfectly still. _I will not give him the satisfaction,_ he thought furiously. _I will _not_ give him the satisfaction._

When Malcolm made no move, Rupert continued. "He's a quick learner, too. He knows just what I like and how I like it. Knows when to give in and when to take control. Not like you. You never did figure out how to be anything but a vessel, did you, baby? Never took command of any situation in your life."

"Until today." Malcolm's voice held fire and ice, and the threat was clear in it. He was pleased to see Rupert's cold demeanor crack ever so slightly. It was a tiny, pointless victory, but it was the only victory he had at that moment.

"I'll come round for my things next week. Don't worry, baby, I won't make it hard for you," Rupert added in a mockery of concern for Malcolm's feelings. "I'll make sure you're at work when I come." He was about to leave, but paused to look back at Malcolm one last time. "I gave notice at the start of the term, by the way. You have until the end of next month to get out." Then he turned around and stalked away.

A moment later Malcolm heard the front open and then close with gut-wrenching finality.

He sat in stony silence for a long time after that. The rain stopped and the sun began to rise before he moved. When he did, it was to stand up and stretch muscles that ached from tension and inaction. He went to the kitchen and methodically emptied and rinsed the teapot. Next, he placed his dirty mug in the dishwasher and claimed a new one from the cupboard. It took him several moments to find the spoon-shaped tea infuser he knew he had. It had been years since he'd used it, but he'd never thrown it out. After some searching, he found it in the back of the utensil drawer. He scooped tealeaves into the infuser, placed it in the mug, and then drew instant hot water from the tap to fill the mug.

Malcolm stared into his tea, watching it darken as it steeped. When the steaming liquid had achieved just the right shade of rich brown, he sipped it carefully. It tasted smooth and strong, and it soothed his tight throat. Depositing the infuser in the sink, he took his drink, sat down at the kitchen table, and looked out through the tiny window onto the street below.

He felt surprisingly calm. His heartbeat was steady and slow, his eyes were dry. There wasn't even the telltale tingle of unshed tears. Nothing seemed to be able penetrate his cool exterior to the icy vacuum within him. He was completely numb, hollow, as if someone had reached inside him and pulled out everything warm and living.

The rain began to fall again, a cold spring drizzle. Malcolm didn't mind. It washed the air clean and left the old buildings shining with wetness. He reached out and opened the little window, inhaling the scent of wet pavement and early morning.

He finished his tea and decided to go for a walk.

* * *

A heavy silence descended over the cabin, blanketing its two occupants. Malcolm stared across the room, not really seeing the stars that slipped past outside the window. He'd long ago drained the water glass he held, but he'd never bothered to refill it. Trip had long since given in to the urge to hold something—even if it couldn't be Malcolm—and only now released the pillow he'd clutched for well over an hour.

"He was true to his word that time, at least," Malcolm said dully. "I came home from work the next Monday to find everything that belonged to him was gone." He gave a single mirthless chuckle, something between amusement and disgust. "I'd briefly considered changing the lock codes so he couldn't get in without me there, but there wasn't any point in postponing the inevitable. And it really did hurt less that I wasn't there to watch him and my replacement pack up everything and haul it away." He fell silent once more, toying idly with the empty drinking glass.

Trip had never looked away from him the entire time Malcolm had recounted his story. The play of emotions on his lover's face had been painful to watch, but somehow Trip had been unable or simply unwilling to turn away. Even that small a thing would have felt like a betrayal—like he was letting Malcolm down somehow.

He set aside the pillow he held, stiff muscles protesting the movement. He ignored them. Pushing aside the covers, Trip shifted position until he was seated beside Malcolm, their bodies touching from shoulder to knee. He was relieved when Malcolm neither shied away nor protested. Taking this as an encouraging sign, Trip dared to wrap his arm around Malcolm's unusually bowed shoulders. He wasn't sure what to say, so he remained silent.

Eventually, Malcolm relaxed a little into Trip's embrace. Finding comfort there, he rested his head on Trip's shoulder. Several moments passed that way before Malcolm began to cry quietly.

Trip took the empty glass from Malcolm's hand and set it aside. Without a word, he wrapped strong arms around his lover and held him. Trip found it subtly disturbing to see Malcolm—his steady, strong Malcolm—break down that way. But having finally learned everything Malcolm had just told him, Trip could only marvel that he'd held it all in for so many years. He deserved to be able to let it all out this way, and Trip allowed him to do just that, holding Malcolm until he cried himself out.

_This is just the beginning. It's all out in the open. He can't hide from it anymore, and now he has to deal with it,_ Trip thought as he held his weeping partner. He gently kissed the top of Malcolm's head. _And I'm gonna deal with it with him. Whatever happens, I'm gonna be here for him._ It was a promise he made silently to himself.

Eventually, Malcolm sat up straight once more, wiping his cheeks with his hands in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said.

Trip reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand and offered it to him. "You don't have to apologize, Malcolm," he replied as the other man took several tissues.

Malcolm dried his red-rimmed eyes and blew his nose. He'd almost managed to regain his usual self-possession by the time he responded. "Thank you."

"For the tissues?" Trip half-joked. He hoped that a little levity would help Malcolm understand that everything really was all right between them.

"For listening," Malcolm replied.

Trip shook his head. "I should thank you." At his lover's puzzled look, he explained. "I know that wasn't easy for you. It took a lot of courage for you to trust me, and I won't forget it. You know," he went on, "in some ways I should be grateful to that bastard."

Now Malcolm's look went from puzzled to dumbfounded. "You what?"

Trip shrugged one shoulder. "If he hadn't driven you to it, who knows if you'd ever have joined Starfleet? Or, if you'd never met him, you might have joined earlier and we might never have met. Things happen for a reason." He looked Malcolm directly in the eye before going on. "I'm sorry for everything he put you through. You should never have had to put up with anyone treating you the way he did, and I still fully intend to kick his sorry, pompous, manipulative ass across this galaxy. But if not for him, you might not be here with me now, and I don't even want to imagine living without you in my life."

Malcolm tried to speak, but he didn't know what to say. He was overcome with the sincerity in Trip's face and words.

For his part, Trip needed no reply. He was perfectly happy simply to see the love expressed so openly in Malcolm's eyes. He allowed his partner another few moments to collect himself before he spoke again. "Can I ask you one question?"

Malcolm braced himself internally, wondering what else Trip could possibly want to know. "Of course."

"Will you move in with me now?"

It was the last thing Malcolm expected and it caused him to stall briefly, his tired brain working to make sense of what Trip had just said. When it did, he almost laughed at the absurdity and ingenuousness of the question. Still, he couldn't help hedging a little as he answered it. "If you still think it's a good idea."

"I think it's the best idea I've had since I figured out how to increase the efficiency of the warp engines by nearly eight percent," Trip informed him decisively.

Now Malcolm did laugh, shining blue eyes alight with relief. "All right," he agreed.

"Good. We'll take care of it first thing in the morning."

"How about first thing tomorrow?" suggested Malcolm. At Trip's curious look, he nodded toward the bedside chronometer, which glowed a bright 0512. "First thing in the morning was about a quarter of an hour ago."

Trip groaned when he saw what time it was. "Good thing we scheduled ourselves for Beta-shift today."

"It is one of the benefits of being a department head," agreed Malcolm.

Trip nodded. "Shower now?" he suggested wearily. "Or sleep first?" He crossed mental fingers that Malcolm would say shower. Despite how tired he was, he was too wound up to sleep right away.

Malcolm met Trip's tired gaze with his own. "Shower," he echoed in fatigued agreement.

A coy smile played over Trip's lips as an idea occurred to him. "At least at this hour we're not likely to have company in the shower room." Then he backpedaled slightly, afraid he might have pushed too far too soon after Malcolm's night of emotional purging. "Unless you don't want to right now," he added hastily. To Trip's pleasure and surprise, Malcolm actually smiled.

Privately, Malcolm was thrilled at Trip's suggestion. It was a good sign that the younger man still felt the same way towards him as he had before Malcolm had told him everything. "We'd best get moving," he replied. "We definitely don't want any company this morning."

Trip grinned, his face practically glowing with happiness. Suddenly feeling energized, he all but leapt from the bed. "You get the bathrobes. I'll get everything else." His tone and expression stated as clearly as words could have just what "everything else" was.

Malcolm chuckled. "I love you, Trip."

Trip paused at the nightstand and looked back at his lover. "I love you, too, Malcolm," he said with conviction. "Now get a move on. We've got a date with a shower, and I don't want to be late."

Malcolm laughed again and fetched their robes from the closet. They headed quickly to the shower room, which they found gratifyingly deserted.

*****

End Log 2:23

_Completed 15 Feb 04  
Revised 27 Feb 04_


	24. Log 2:24

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:24**: (Takes place before/during/after _Horizon_)  
_Rating - [R – language]_  
**Author's Note**: Ensign Ari Cohn and crewman Singh belong to Squeaky Lightfoot and are used with permission.

Hoshi walked determinedly along the E-deck corridor. Several days had passed since she'd caught Ian and Michael together in the turbolift, but she was so torn up about it that she still hadn't reported the incident to Captain Archer. She had tried to do so on four separate occasions, but each time her nerve had failed her. The fact was she still wasn't convinced reporting it was the right thing to do. So she'd made an appointment with Doctor Douglas to discuss the problem. _I hope he knows what to do,_ she thought.

She'd spent much of the past week silently cursing Ian and Michael for being stupid enough to get caught together, and even more of the week cursing herself for being the one to catch them.

_Why couldn't I have stayed later at the party?_ she silently bemoaned for the umpteenth time. Her head was so full of 'ifs' and 'might-have-beens' that she was driving herself crazy—and that just made her angrier with herself. _It's past time I talked to someone._

She turned the final corner before Douglas's office and, reaching the door, rang the chime.

"Come in," he called.

Hoshi opened the door, but she remained standing just outside. "Hi, Doctor Douglas," she began a little awkwardly.

"Please, Hoshi. Call me Kyrin. I don't like to stand on formality in my office. Speaking of which," he added, a twinkle in his blue eyes, "why don't you actually come into my office and have a seat?" He smiled invitingly.

"Right." Hoshi entered the room and the door closed behind her. She sat down on the couch and folded her hands in her lap formally.

"So, what was it you wanted to see me about?" Kyrin inquired.

"I saw something" she began, then paused, marshalling her thoughts. _The best thing is just to say it,_ she told herself firmly. Hoshi took a steadying breath and tried again. "I caught an officer and a crewman in acompromising situation on New Year's Eve."

"I see." Kyrin's tone and expression were mild. In his opinion, it wasn't terribly surprising that fraternization had occurred between an officer and a crewman—particularly on such a festive night. He understood well that human nature couldn't always be controlled by rules and regulations. "Have you reported this to the Captain yet?"

"No." Hoshi looked chagrined. "I've tried. I even made it all the way into his ready room twice, but I couldn't do it. I came up with lame cover stories both times. I think the Captain thinks I'm finally losing my mind."

"He hasn't mentioned such a concern to me, so I don't think he's too worried about that yet," Kyrin said with gentle humor.

She smiled at him, genuinely relieved. "That's good."

"Can you tell my why you haven't been able to report this incident to Captain Archer?"

"This is all completely confidential, right?" Hoshi couldn't help but ask.

"Of course."

"This officer I'm afraid if I report him" She found she couldn't meet Kyrin's kind, inquisitive gaze any longer, and she looked away. She shook her head at herself. "This sounds really childish."

"That's all right," he assured her. "I'm not here to judge anyone. I'm just here to listen and hopefully to help."

She glanced at him briefly before turning away again. "If I report him—the officer, that is—I'm afraid he'll hate me."

"And this worries you?" the psychiatrist asked, concerned that she might be feeling threatened by this unnamed officer.

"Worries isn't the right word." She frowned, thinking. "Icare about him. A lot. God, this really does sound so childish!" She paused again, and Kyrin waited patiently for her to go on. "I'm afraid it will ruin any possibility of the two of us getting back together," she announced at last.

"Ah. You mean Ian Young." It was common knowledge that the two had been dating, and also that they had broken up.

Hoshi nodded miserably.

Kyrin was thoughtful. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but there was a question he had to ask. He approached it directly, but phrased it as delicately as he could. "Tell me, did you get the impression his contact with the crewman in question was at allnon-consensual? On either person's part," he hastened to add.

"What?" Hoshi exclaimed, shocked. "No! How can you even suggest that? Ian would never do something like that!"

Kyrin pressed the matter gently. "Are you positive? I saw him at the party that night. He had quite a lot to drink. It's possible he may not have been in complete control of himself."

Hoshi shook her head and said decisively, "No. He'd never do that. Besides," she continued in an odd mix of reluctance and earnestness, "Michael looked just as...eager as Ian did."

Kyrin fought to keep his surprise to himself, but with limited success. "Michael Rostov?" It was an obvious assumption; there was only one Michael on the ship.

Hoshi looked mortified, but she nodded. "I wasn't going to tell you. I don't want anyone to get into trouble."

"You certainly do face a dilemma," he sympathized. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk, and laced his fingers together. "I can't tell you what to do, Hoshi. I can only remind you that the regulations against fraternization between officers and crewmen are there for a reason. They protect both sides from manipulation and harassment."

"I realize that, but" She paused, not wanting to voice what she was thinking. If what she feared was true, it was yet another brick in the wall between Ian and herself. She fell silent.

When Hoshi hesitated, Kyrin decided to take a different approach. "You might not know this, but I do have a unique insight into this issue." When she looked at him with a puzzled frown, he explained. "Liam wasn't an officer when he was assigned to _Enterprise_," he reminded her. "It wasn't easy for us in the beginning. Even as we discovered how we felt about each other, we knew there was nothing we could do about those feelings. Fortunately, Liam passed the officers' exams on his first try." He allowed a note of pride to creep into his voice.

Hoshi couldn't ignore the nagging voice in the back of her mind any longer. "But what if Ian and Michael really care about each other? Like you and Liam?"

Kyrin grew serious once again. "In that case, they should respect each other enough not to put one another in this sort of situation. But that's not your problem, is it?"

"Isn't it?" She looked at him with pleading and determination in her eyes. "I think that's exactly my problem. I still care about Ian. I think I might even love him. But if I report him like I should, I destroy any chance I have of ever getting him back. But if I don't report him, then he'll keep on seeing Michael and I'll still never get him back." She grew more upset as she went on. "There's nothing I can do. I'm stuck in this horrible position and it's all their fault! Why did they have to be in that turbolift right then? Why did I have to be the one to find them there?"

"I don't have those answers for you," said Kyrin apologetically. "You can keep on worrying about what might have been, but that's not going to change what is." He sat back again and tried another tactic. "Have you spoken to Ian or Michael about the incident?"

Hoshi shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Can you imagine what it was like for me?" she demanded. "I don't think I can look either of them in the eye ever again."

"Then there's not much point in worrying about whether or not you'll ever get Ian back, is there? Either way, it's unfair of you to leave them wondering when and where the hammer will fall—or even if it will fall at all."

"Unfair to _them_?!"

"You have the power in this situation, Hoshi. Don't forget that. Whatever you decide to do, you need to decide it soon."

She knew he was right, but that didn't make the choice any easier. She sighed heavily. "I still don't know what to do," she said in frustration, and looked at him imploringly. "Tell me what to do."

"You know better than that. I can't make the decision for you."

She sighed again. "I know. I know." Placing her open palms on her knees, she met Kyrin's compassionate but unwavering gaze. "I guess I'd better go do some more serious thinking." She rose. "You're really not going to tell anyone what I told you?"

He shook his head.

She hung her head in disappointment. "Damn. Thanks for your help," she said sincerely. She hadn't gotten the answer she wanted, but that didn't mean talking to him hadn't at least helped her to organize her thoughts and give her a new perspective on them.

"Come back anytime if you need to talk more."

"Thanks," Hoshi said again, and then departed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Liz asked.

Travis shook his head, not meeting her gaze. "I'm sure."

Liz sat cross-legged on Travis's bunk while he slowly packed a bag with a few essentials. Both of them had red-rimmed eyes, and Liz's nose was still pink from crying. The news of his father's death had hit Travis very hard, and Liz hated to see him in so much pain. Even though she'd never met any of his family in person, she felt like she knew them all from stories he'd told her and letters he'd shared.

Travis stuffed one last shirt into the small duffel and zipped it up. Then he stood staring down at the bag for a moment. He couldn't explain to Liz why he didn't want her along. He didn't mean to exclude her, but his homecoming would be hard enough without worrying about her, too. His family had had time to deal with their loss; six weeks had passed before word of his father's death reached Travis on _Enterprise_. He needed time to assimilate it, too, and he didn't think he could do that if Liz came with him.

Liz's heart ached for her lover. She wished there was something she could do to make it better, to stop him hurting. It was a futile wish, but she couldn't help believing he would be better off if she went with him. "You're really sure?" she asked again. "I'm sure Captain Archer would approve my leave if I asked."

Finally Travis looked at her directly. His eyes shone with all the tears he'd already shed and those he fought to keep back. He stepped over to her, leaned over her seated form, and kissed her tenderly.

"Thank you," he said with utter sincerity. "But this is something I have to do on my own. Do you understand?"

Liz nodded, then shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She didn't want to start crying again for fear it would set him off, too. She took a deep breath and nodded more firmly. "I love you," she whispered past the lump in her throat.

"I love you, too." They kissed again before Travis picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder. He held out a hand, which Liz accepted, and he helped her to rise. "Walk me to the airlock?"

"Of course."

Malcolm and Trip sat at a table in the mess hall, enjoying a quiet meal together. _Enterprise_ had just completed its rendezvous with the _Horizon_ to drop off Ensign Mayweather and was now back en route to its current assignment.

"How was Travis when you saw him off?" Malcolm asked.

Trip shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on a muffaletta sandwich. He swallowed the bite before answering, "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Liz was there, too, but she didn't go with him. They both looked like they'd been crying." He shook his head sadly. "I can't even imagine what he must be going through."

"He and I were having lunch together yesterday when he got the call from his mother, you know. He was saying how he thought Starfleet should put families on their ships so no one would get homesick. I told him Doctor Douglas would have customers queued up for the next two years solid if that were the case."

"And you'd be at the head of the line?" teased Trip, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

"Too right," agreed Malcolm emphatically.

"I wouldn't want my family on board, either. I like knowing they're all safe back on Earth. Besides," he went on, smiling across the table at his lover, "my mom would get her hands on you, and I'd never have you to myself again."

Malcolm chuckled doubtfully. He'd only heard Trip's stories about his family, and he had a hard time imagining what they must be like in person—particularly when they all gathered in one place, as they seemed prone to do. The idea that Trip's mother would be so taken with him seemed unlikely to Malcolm. He thought it much more likely she would find him dubious at best and dangerous at worst. After all, he sincerely doubted he was exactly what she'd hoped for for her second son. "You must be joking," he said.

"Nope," Trip insisted. "She'd go wild for you. She'd tell you you're too thin and then try to stuff you full of blackened catfish or black-eyed peas and collard greens..."

Malcolm made a face despite his best efforts.

"...and pecan pie. Once you escaped from her, my brother'd be right there, ready to regale you with one of his fly-fishing stories about the 'one that got away', or my dad would make you come look at whatever new truck he'd just gotten. Or my sisters would try to steal you away to interrogate you like they did to everyone I ever dated in high school."

"Well," Malcolm said, trying to remain staunch in the face of such potential horrors, "I expect I could manage your family during the day, as long as I got to spend every night with you."

Trip laughed. "That'd be guaranteed."

"It would have to be," his lover quipped back, joining in his laughter.

"What would your family do when they met me?" Trip asked suddenly.

"Oh, well," Malcolm hedged, considering, "Maddy would like you once she'd finished questioning you."

"Your sister does that, too?"

"I think it's a universal constant among sisters."

"What else? What would your folks say?"

"Assuming my father was speaking to me at the time, which _isn't_ a guarantee, he'd be pleased you're an engineer, but annoyed that you're American."

"Never really forgave the colonies for getting all uppity, huh?" joked Trip.

Malcolm smiled wryly. "I wouldn't put it past him. Most of all, he'd be annoyed that you're Starfleet. He still hasn't gotten over me joining, and the fact that I've fallen in love with a career Starfleet officer would leave him quite thoroughly nonplussed."

"Hang on. You're talking like you haven't even told him about me."

"I...haven't. Not directly, that is."

"_What?_" exclaimed Trip, garnering startled looks from the other people currently in the mess hall. He lowered his voice, but remained insistent. "We've been together for over a year. We're even living together now. And you haven't felt compelled to share this information with your family?"

"I've told Maddy about you, " Malcolm replied defensively. "Not that we've moved in together, of course; I haven't written to her since before the New Year. I mentioned you to Aunt Sherry as well, so undoubtedly she's told my mother, who...may or may not have mentioned it to my father."

"Great communication network your family has," said Trip dryly.

"It avoids unwanted contact," Malcolm countered evenly.

"Between?"

"My father and me, for the most part."

"Yep." Trip nodded sagely. "Real healthy."

"I never claimed it was a healthy—except that it keeps my blood pressure from rising to dangerous heights."

Trip shook his head and took a long swallow of iced tea. "If you ask me—"

"I didn't," Malcolm cut him off. He went on before Trip could take too much offense. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, I just don't think a chat about my family is really going to make the evening more pleasant."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I know what'll make your evening more pleasant."

Malcolm looked at him, a tiny, lascivious smile barely tweaking the corner of his mouth. "What might that be?"

"_Frankenstein_."

Malcolm's expression went blank. "Excuse me?"

"Movie night tonight. I convinced the Captain to make every night movie night until we're done with our current assignment. There's nothing much to do while the sensors take all their readings on that planet we're gonna be monitoring for Starfleet. Now I'm not saying volcanology isn't fascinating," Trip went on, although his tone belied his words, "but it's got nothing on the classics of twentieth century cinema."

"_Frankenstein_?" echoed Malcolm dubiously. "Which _Frankenstein_?"

"I said it was a _classic_," Trip answered as if this made it obvious which one he meant. It did, and Malcolm's face fell. Trip continued, oblivious of his lover's feelings on the matter. "And _Bride of Frankenstein_ tomorrow night, followed by _Son of Frankenstein_ the night after that."

"There's a _Son of Frankenstein_?" queried Malcolm, appalled. "Mary Shelley must be spinning in her grave. Did you and Lawless drug the Captain to get him to agree to this plan of yours?"

"Didn't have to." Trip smirked smugly.

Malcolm shook his head in mock despair. "My issues with Captain Archer's command style are suddenly resurfacing with a vengeance."

Trip just laughed.

"I think I have something I have to do tonight," Malcolm went on. "And tomorrow night, and the night after that."

"Come on. I thought you said you wanted to spend every night with me."

"I do. I just don't care to spend them with you and Bela Lugosi."

"Actually, it's Boris Karloff."

"There's a difference?"

"I admit that to the uneducated mind the differences are subtle," answered Trip wryly.

"Well that explains it. My university education didn't cover B horror movies," Malcolm wisecracked back at him.

"And here folks say the British education system is better than ours."

"It all depends on your point of view, I expect."

"I expect," echoed Trip, and they both chuckled. "You know," he went, turning back to their earlier topic, "Echo Three will be in range the entire time we're at the planet."

Malcolm didn't immediately make the connection. "Your point?"

"We ought to be getting a big download of mail since we're so close. It's a good time to send messages home, too. You could send a letter to your sisterand maybe I could add a paragraph or two."

"I don't know."

"What? Are you afraid I'll embarrass you?"

"Not exactly," Malcolm hedged again. In truth he was concerned that his lover's naturally candid nature might reveal things Malcolm wasn't prepared to share with his sister.

"It'll be fun," insisted Trip. "Tell you what. You let me share in your letter to Maddy, and I'll let you in on my letter home. Sound like a fair deal?"

Malcolm could see there would be no getting around it. _I suppose I could do some judicious editing if necessary_ he thought. He nodded reluctantly. "That sounds fair to me."

Trip grinned. "Great!"

The cabin door slipped open and Stephanie entered. Liz was already there, sitting on her bunk with her knees up and her back to the wall. On one side of her was a half-empty box of tissues, on the other side was a pile of crumpled, used tissues.

"Hey you," Stephanie said, sitting on the foot of her friend's bunk. "How're you doing?" Sensing that Liz could use a little human contact, she rested a hand on her bare foot.

Liz gave her a wan smile. "You know, I feel sort of dumb," she said with a sniff.

"Dumb? Why?"

"I never even met Travis's dad. I've seen pictures, but I never spoke to him, never even heard a voice letter from him. So I can't help thinking that it's dumb of me to be so upset that he's dead." Liz shrugged and wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue.

Stephanie shook her head. "It's not dumb at all. You don't have to know someone to mourn for them. In a way, you're really mourning for Travis. For what he's lost. Does that make sense?"

Liz thought about it, and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so," she said. Then her tears welled up and she choked back a sob. "I love him so much."

Immediately Stephanie moved up to sit beside her friend, brushing the pile of dirty tissues onto the floor to make a place for herself. She wrapped strong arms around Liz and held her until she cried herself out.

When Liz's tears finally abated, Stephanie reached across her and pulled a wad of tissues from the box. "Here. I'll get you a glass of water, okay?"

Liz nodded. "Thanks." She blew her nose and did her best to dry her cheeks. Stephanie returned from the lav with a glass of cold water in her hand. "Thanks," Liz repeated, taking it and drinking deeply.

Stephanie sat again. "So what say you and I go to the movie tonight?"

"I don't know if I'm up to it."

"It promises to be a night of mindless entertainment," Stephanie coaxed encouragingly.

Liz considered it before answering. "Come to think of it, that sounds like a great idea. Assuming I can make myself presentable in time."

"We can arrive a little late if we have to—once it's dark, so no one'll see."

Her suggestion elicited a tiny smile from Liz. "You have an answer for everything."

"Well, _almost_ everything," Stephanie admitted with false modesty.

Liz's smile widened minutely. "I'll clean up, and then we can go."

"Sounds like a plan."

It was the second day of _Enterprise_'s observation assignment. The planet they were monitoring was being turned inside out by the gravitational forces of two gas giants. There was little for most of the crew to do while the six imaging relays they'd dropped into orbit automatically recorded and uploaded the geologic activity.

Watching the eruptions held some interest for Ensign Donnelly, but the novelty soon wore off. There were only so many ways something could explode, after all. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen to go into communications rather than armaments.

He was sitting at the bridge comm station, bored, when a light flashed on his console. "Incoming message from Starfleet Command."

T'Pol looked up from the situation room's main console where she and two members of the science team were examining data from the thermal scanners. "What is it?" she inquired.

Donnelly smiled. "Mail download," he announced, and saw his smile mirrored on the face of Ensign Fraser at the helm.

Lieutenant Reed acknowledged the news with a glance across the bridge in Donnelly's direction, but Reed's face was as impassive as T'Pol's.

"It's a big one," Donnelly went on. "I think they're making up for lost time. Taking advantage of the proximity to dump everything they have for us."

"Thank you, Ensign," T'Pol said with a note of finality in her voice. She found the young man chattier than necessary much of the time, and this was no exception.

Donnelly got the hint and shut up. He began the process of sorting the downloaded communiqués.

Cormack was thrilled when her armory shift ended. It had been a deadly dull day, which was sure to be followed by another deadly dull day until they completed their mission and got back underway.

"I hope you brought a book," Cormack quipped as she handed her shift report over Martinez, who was stuck covering Beta shift.

Martinez just smiled and pulled another datapad from a pocket. "Better. I got two letters from my parents, one from each of my sisters, and one from my cousin, Edgar."

Cormack's eyes lit up. "Mail? We got mail?"

"_Si_."

"Groovy! I'll see you later!" She hurried off to her cabin to see what might be waiting for her.

She wasn't disappointed. There were letters from her mom and from Ryn, and a third letter that surprised her. It was a message from her old friends Lynn and Noel. Shock overrode her desire to see what her family was up to, and she opened that file first.

Two cheerful faces smiled at her from the screen. Stephanie grinned back, amazed and bemused. Aside from the documentary footage her sister-in-law had sent well over a year ago, she'd not seen anything but promotional pictures of her old bandmates. She wondered what had possessed them to contact her now and how they'd even found her so many light-years from Earth.

"Computer, play message."

A brief pause, and the image on the screen leapt into life.

"Hey you!" exclaimed the petite redhead, waving.

Stephanie waved back playfully, giggling absurdly at this unexpected delight. "Hey yourself," she said to the prerecorded image.

"I bet you're wondering how we tracked you down," Lynn chimed in. Her brown hair was longer than Stephanie remembered, and streaked with silver. It looked good. "Let's just say that someone at Starfleet Command is a big fan of Cordelia's Sisters." She gave a sly wink.

Noel shoved her friend in the shoulder. "She's kidding. We knew you were in Starfleet. After that, it was easy."

"The guy was still a fan," protested Lynn, overlapping her friend's words.

"Yes, okay." Noel looked directly at the datacorder, addressing Stephanie. "That part was true, but it didn't have any effect on this message."

"Which, by the way, includes a download of our newest album—"

"Yet to be released to the public."

Lynn cut in again. "Well, it isn't out now when we're recording this message for you, but who knows when this'll get to you, eh?"

"True."

Stephanie laughed. Watching the message play was just like being with them again—the way they talked over one another, contradicted each other with practiced ease, and did all the silly things that good friends who've known one another for a long, long time do. Even though it was years since Stephanie had so much as sat down with them for coffee, it felt like no time at all had passed.

"Okay," Noel went on, "so there's another reason we wanted to contact you. And this shouldn't be public knowledge yet either—"

"Unless it takes, like, three months for this to get to you."

"It didn't," smirked Stephanie. The date stamp on the file was only three weeks old.

"Unless it takes three months to get to you," echoed Noel with a grudging nod. She hesitated, looking at Lynn. "You want to go first?"

"You go first."

"You're sure?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

Stephanie continued to chuckle even as a part of her grew impatient at their back-and-forth banter. _It really is just like old times,_ she thought. "One of you tell me something!" she ordered the recording.

As if she'd heard her, Lynn took the lead. She looked directly into the datacorder. "I'm getting married."

"And I'm pregnant!" exclaimed Noel gleefully.

Stephanie's eyes went wide at both announcements. "Holy crap!"

"So you can see why this'll be common knowledge before too long," Lynn continued. "She's already getting fat."

"Funny. Bitch." Noel punched her on the arm in mock anger. "You're just jealous because my tits are bigger than yours for once." She turned back to the camera, adding gleefully, "They jiggle now!"

"You probably don't know either of the guys."

"Matt, the father of my fabulous baby girl, is a bioengineer. And her man—"

"Sean."

"—is a sound tech for Hobbiton Army."

"At least they're not one and the same guy," Stephanie quipped, wishing she was back home to share in the celebrations.

"We wanted to let you know personally because, like we said in that crazy documentary last year—"

"Did you even see that?" Lynn asked earnestly, as if she might actually get an answer.

"—we really do miss you," Noel concluded. "Anyway, I hope you're doing well out there."

"Who'd've thought our little 'sister' would end up in space?" sighed Lynn theatrically.

Noel looked at her critically. "I did—I just didn't figure it'd be so literal." Then she grinned at Stephanie from the screen. "Kidding!"

"If you ever get shore leave back on Earth, contact us. Our manager's information is attached. We would have given you our own info, but Noel was paranoid someone would steal it."

"I had a stalker issue a couple of years ago. It's not a problem now, but you can't be too careful."

"Absolutely."

"So enjoy the new tracks!"

"And write to us sometime."

"Smooches!" said Noel, blowing a kiss at the camera.

"Goddess bless!" added Lynn. The pair waved a good-bye and the message ended.

Stephanie sat staring at the screen for several seconds. "How surreal was that?" she asked the empty cabin rhetorically. She quickly opened the music file, and the signature sounds of Cordelia's Sisters began to play. She turned the volume down to a background level and let it run as she opened the message from Ryn.

Once again it was a recorded message, rather than a typed letter. Stephanie had only a few moments to wonder why before the image appeared on the screen. Her jaw dropped.

"Hey, Sis." The rueful look on Ryn's face was matched by the wry tone of her voice. "I'd have just sent a letter, but you didn't say anything about it the last time I saw you." Her eyes uncannily fixed on Stephanie's for a moment, and her head bobbed slightly before she continued. "I knew you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it, so" She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it fully into view. It was longer now, almost brushing her shoulders. Half of it was the same as it had always been; brown, straight, with the red and gold highlights that time in the sun always brought out in it. But the restthe rest was white. Not just white—it was curly.

"It figures, eh?" Ryn pushed her hair back and favored the datacorder with a wicked grin. "All those years envying you and Dad for your curly hair, and all I had to do was give myself an extra-crispy scalp treatment to get some of my very own. I finally have proof that you're a hothead—the Cormack hair gives it away." Her grin turned into a grimace as some of the white, curly locks flopped forward across her face, but the laughter never left her eyes. "What's really ironic is that now that I have it, I hate it just as much as you said I would. Granted, I might not dislike it so much if all of my hair was like this, but as it is, it's a gods-awful mess." She sighed and rummaged for something off-screen, her voice only slightly muffled by facing away from the recorder. Seen from behind, Ryn's hodgepodge of hair colors and textures was even more startling. "The doctors say that the effect might be only temporary, that as my body gets over the shock, the regular color and texture of my hair might return to the burned areas. We'll have to wait a few more months to see." Ryn finally turned back toward the datacorder with a brightly-patterned fabric headband in one hand. With an ease that spoke of much recent experience, she pulled it over her head and then settled it halfway back on her head, confining the brown-and-white mishmash of locks away from her face. "On the bright side, Kevin's been having a lot of fun making these headbands, and he's very proud every time he sees one of his mommies wearing one." Ryn's smile turned positively devilish. "And yes, Gemma's been wearing them too, even to work—although whether out of solidarity with me, or because Kevin's turning into just as effective a manipulator as his uncle Marsten, I wouldn't care to guess."

"Speaking of Kevin" Ryn launched into a long spate of family news and gossip, catching Stephanie up on all the various doings. Stephanie had to pause the recording several times to get her laughter under control. In particular, the mental image of her mother with an upended container of strained beets and carrots on her head, the contents streaming down through her hair and a splotch of the vile stuff clinging stubbornly to the tip of her nose, had Stephanie rolling for a solid minute and giggling intermittently for the next five—and the story of Gemma's meeting with a know-it-all CBC executive was almost as hysterical.

Near the end of the recording, a fussy cry interrupted Ryn. Her sister leaned down out of frame and re-emerged with a squirming, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. "I guess Lalita wanted to say hello directly," she commented even as she rocked her soothingly back and forth. "Say hello to your auntie, 'Lita," she crooned. A single fist emerged from the blankets and waved energetically back and forth for a few moments, and the crying stopped. "That's a good girl," Ryn approved. "She's a much easier baby than Kevin ever was, thank the gods, but I'll have to go in a minute and change her." She glanced away from Lalita, once again meeting Stephanie's eyes. Dimly, Stephanie wondered how her sister managed the trick. Ryn's blue eyes were practically hypnotic, impossible to look away from. "I've attached a copy of the picture you wanted. I hope it doesn't lose any data in transmission; I'm still not confident about the compression software Starfleet uses for these messages to you. I hope it comes out well, and that you enjoy it. And, Ephie—it never was your fault, you know. You did what you could. The rest just was as it was—and I guess it still is." A momentary expression of sadness crossed her sister's features, followed almost immediately by a fierce scowl. "And you'd better write soon and tell me all about things, because I'm going to die of curiosity otherwise!"

A squall from Lalita caused Ryn to look away from the datacorder, and Stephanie almost felt as if she'd been released from a physical grip. Her sister glanced back up at the screen, affection and exasperation in her gaze. "I guess that's my cue. Seems like I'm always being interrupted in these messages to you—and that the zingers wind up coming out last. I'll have to work on that, I guess." Ryn winked. "I love you, Sis. Now write to me!" The image faded out, but the warmth of Ryn's final smile still lingered in the room.

Stephanie sat in silence for over a minute as she tried to assimilate her sister's parting revelation. _Maybe I'm wrong,_ she thought._ Maybe I misunderstood._ But all she had to do was open the image attachment Ryn had sent to know she wasn't mistaken.

She had wondered if her bizarre appearance in Ryn and Gemma's living room had been as real as it had felt. The alien entity that had forced her out of her body had told her she could go to any time or place she wanted, and she had ended up there. When she'd left there in favor of a day over fifteen years in the past, she'd been unable to affect anything. Apparently that wasn't the case for the present. The proof was in front of her—the picture of her father, Ryn, and her on the family sailboat. She had asked for a copy, and here it was.

"Damn," she breathed in amazement. "It was real, and she knows it, too. Computer, start video and audio recording." A quiet chime let her know the computer was ready. She looked into the screen and began her letter.

"Hey, Sis. Just got your latest. I'm glad to hear everyone's doing so well—in spite of idiot bosses and baby food attacks." She chuckled. "Love the new 'do, by the way," she wisecracked. Then she smiled wickedly. "It suits you. I think you should keep it. You should dye the brown bits electric blue and then get a job singing back-up for Cordelia's Sisters. They'd totally dig the punk look you've got going on. I like the headbands Kevin's been making for you and Gemma, too. The boy's got a real sense of style."

Her smile grew a little guarded as she went on. "Thanks for the picture. It came through fine. I'd ask how you knew I wanted it, but" She trailed off. "I don't really understand it, and I can't go into detail. I'd be breaking all sorts of regs if I leaked that kind of stuff to a civilian. Starfleet's not military, but they make a pretty good show of it sometimes, eh? I don't think it'll cause trouble to say we had an interesting encounter with an alien species. They had some amazing abilities—one of which you witnessed. I can only describe it as a sort of forced astral projection. Although I haven't heard of anyone else who went somewhere in real time; everyone I've talked to went to places in the past." She looked directly into the screen, hoping to imitate Ryn's uncanny knack for eye contact across light-years. "That didn't work, by the way. I think you know that, judging from what you said. I just figured I'd tell you you were right, now and the last time we talked."

She continued to talk, telling Ryn about life in general. She recounted how she'd made cookies for Malcolm, and briefly mentioned the jungle moon where she'd climbed a tree; Stephanie felt it was best not to go into detail on what happened to her once she'd climbed it.

"So, do you remember me mentioning Ensign Fraser? Bonnie is her first name." She shifted awkwardly before going on. "Well we've really hit it off, eh? It'scool. I mean it's not all perfect—you know, ponies and rose petals and all that crap. It's real. She's" She struggled to find the words that would describe Bonnie so that Ryn would understand. "She's everything, you know what I mean? I haven't told her that, of course. I don't want to push it too fast. She did join me for Winter Solstice, though," she added encouragingly, and then wondered whom she was trying to encourage. "That was amazing. It's been a long time since I shared that holiday with anyone but family. Not since I left the band and graduated from university. Anyway, I thought you'd like to know." Stephanie hesitated, squirmed a little again. "And I thought maybe you'd light a candle for us next Sabbath? You probably won't get this message until after Imbolc, but maybe. You never know. There's always Beltane. Anyway" She trailed off again, not really sure what else she wanted to say.

"Tell Mom hi for me. I'll send her a letter, too, but if you get yours first you can assure her that there's one on the way for her." She smiled wryly. "You know Mom. Give my love to Gemma and the kids, too. I hope I get to see them all before Kevin's high school graduation. I love you, Ryn. Bye."

She shut off the recording manually, and then checked the time. "Damn!" It was later than she'd thought. She'd have to hurry if she was going to meet up with Mae in the gym before dinner. "Sorry, Mom," she said to the empty cabin, "you're going to have to wait."

Mae entered her cabin to find a message light blinking on the computer. She'd heard a rumor that they'd received a huge download of mail, and she'd hoped she would hear from her brother this time. It had been several months since his last letter. She didn't expect to hear from either of her parents. Her mother never communicated unless she wanted something, and what could a daughter provide from deep space? Her dad was an okay correspondent, but he was usually extremely busy. When he did manage to drop her a message, it was always one recorded as he was rushing to or from somewhere. Oddly enough for a professional writer, he always sent recordings rather than typed letters. Friends from Starfleet training and her previous position on Jupiter Station were the most reliable correspondents. Of course they had the advantage of sending letters without having to go through civilian channels.

She didn't bother to sit down as she told the computer to play the first message. The recording began. It was a video letter from her brother, August. As usual, he launched into his message without preamble, talking as if she were sitting there with him. Mae loved that he did that.

"Look at these curls!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. He pointed to the baby who sat in a highchair facing the datacorder. "Did you ever think anyone in our family would ever have such curly hair? Man, I hope it lasts. Yay for Rebekah's genes, huh?" He grinned. "She says hi, by the way. She had a meeting early this morning, or she'd be here. I could have waited until she got home to talk to you, but I really I couldn't. She'll catch you next time. Wave to Aunt Mae-Mae, Sam." He took the baby's hand and waved it at the camera before turning the highchair so it was at right angles with the recorder. He sat down in a kitchen chair opposite his son. That was when Mae noticed the small containers of baby food on the table.

"Aw, you're not, are you?" she said, sitting on the foot of her bunk and pulling off her shoes.

"I know you hate it when I multitask like this, but it's breakfast time so you'll just have to deal with it." August picked up a cup of something too purple for Mae's comfort and tried to scoop a tiny bit into the baby's mouth. He had limited success as it went in and was then spat out. "At least I'm doing this over the breakfast table and not over the changing table."

"Good point." Mae continued to change out of her uniform and into workout gear as the recording went on. She planned to get in a quick weight session and a shower before dinner and movie night with Ari.

"Dad's doing well. Busy, of course, but what else is new? He's really excited about the new script he's writing for A.C.T. He told me what it was about, but you know me and theatre. In one ear, yadda yadda. He sends his love. Well, he would if I'd seen him lately and he knew I was contacting you. You know how it is." He wiped glooped plum purée off of himself and the camera lens before going on. "I'm willing to bet you haven't heard from Mom lately."

"Safe bet." She leaned into her locker, looking for a t-shirt.

"She's getting married."

Mae jumped so high she hit her head on the locker's upper shelf. "Ow! Computer, pause and rewind five seconds. Play," she ordered, rubbing her head with one hand.

"heard from Mom lately," the recording replayed. "She's getting married."

Now certain she hadn't misheard or imagined it, Mae sat down in front of the computer to pay full attention. She yanked on a shirt as the message continued.

"His name is Franklin Ostram. Nobody you should have heard of unless you're into politics." It was clear from August's tone that he wasn't particularly impressed with their mother's choice of new husband. "He's from Florida, or Georgia, or somewhere overly humid. Maybe it was Wisconsin." He shrugged and traded the purple stuff for something green. Mae wondered if he'd gotten any of the first one into the baby's mouth; it all appeared to have landed on the boy's face, or the highchair's tray, or August himself.

"Anyway, the wedding is here in town in March. I think she's having it here just to piss Dad off, but I could be wrong." His voice belied the doubt in his words.

"She doesn't do everything just to piss Dad off," protested Mae pointlessly. She had a greater tolerance for their mother than August did, although she never would have said she liked the woman. Loving her and liking her were two very different things, in Mae's opinion. _At least she took us to the Giants games a lot,_ she thought.

"They're honeymooning in Fort Lauderdale. Fort Worth? Maybe it was Florence, Italy. I wasn't really listening, obviously. I don't know if you want to send her a wedding card or not. I'm stuck actually attending the damned thing. You're lucky you're in deep space, Mae-Mae. It gets you out of pretending you're thrilled that Mom's marrying a chinless politician. Sorry. I only found out about the wedding last night. I haven't quite resigned myself to the horror of it yet." He visibly shook off his unpleasant demeanor. "I've only met the guy once. Maybe he's a perfectly nice guy and I just need to get to know him." But his voice lacked conviction.

"It's okay," Mae sympathized. "I understand."

"Anyway, everything else is good here. Bekah is up for a promotion that I really think she's going to get. Sam is happy and healthy, as you can see. I'm doing well. Everything's good." He finally set down the container of food and looked directly into the recorder. His expression was sincere and grave. "Everyone misses you, though. I know you love your job, but I think it sucks even more than when you were at Jupiter Station." He paused dramatically. "I could really use a babysitter here!" he concluded with a joking grin. "Gotcha! But seriously, we do miss you. I hope you're doing well. Let me know what's up. Bye, Mae." Once again he took his son's hand, this time covered in purple and green goo, and waved it at the camera. Then the screen went blank.

"Bye," replied Mae, overcome with a wave of homesickness. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Little shit," she muttered. "He gets me nearly every time." She took a moment to collect herself before rising and pulling sneakers from her locker. "Mom's getting remarried. Well goddamn and good luck to herand to him." Resolving to write to each member of her immediate family before _Enterprise_'s observation mission was over, she tied her shoes and headed to the gym.

Ian looked up from his datapad and tried not to feel jealous or bitter. It was obvious Ari had a date tonight, which wasn't surprising considering it was movie night and the offering was an old horror flick. Ian wasn't a fan of the genre, so he hadn't bothered to remember the name of the movie. He had a vague memory of it being a sequel to whatever crap had run the night before. The way he felt, he was beginning to think an evening of mindless entertainment might not be such a bad idea—even if he didn't have a date for it.

"Going to the movie again?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Yeah," Ari replied as he put a shine on his black loafers. Satisfied, he slipped them on and rose from his seat on his bunk, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from his pale blue shirt.

"Meeting up with Mae again, too, I suppose."

"Yeah." He paused and looked at his bunkmate with concern. Ian had been decidedly grim and even more uncommunicative than usual lately. Ari was mildly surprised that he had actually attempted to start a conversation, uninspired as it might be. "What are you doing tonight? I get the impression you're _not_ going to the movie."

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't planning to, but I might. There's nothing else to do tonight, anyway."

"Not for you or me, no. There are a few people who are really excited about the planet we're orbiting, but the rest of us are pretty much in a holding pattern until we're done here."

"Yeah." His reply was unenthusiastic.

"Why don't you and Michael go for a drink or something?" Ari suggested innocently. The reaction he got to his question stunned him rigid.

"Fuck no!" exclaimed Ian vehemently.

Ari froze. Suddenly his friend's recent mood and behavior seemed to make sense. "Sorry!" he apologized quickly. He proceeded with caution. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

It was all Ian could do to keep from yelling at him. Ari's sympathy wasn't what he wanted just then. But as quickly as his anger had flared, it faded. "I wish," he answered dully.

Ari's brows furrowed in puzzlement. "I'm confused."

"It doesn't matter. You should go. You're gonna be late."

"I have a little time." Ari sat down again on the end of his bunk to indicate he was ready and willing to listen to whatever his friend had to say.

Ian shook his head. He recognized the movement for the offer it was, but he didn't feel like sharing. _It's better this way,_ he tried to convince himself. _The less he knows, the less he can be held responsible for not saying anything._ It was a completely absurd rationalization, but he wouldn't allow himself to think about that. The truth was that if anyone found out that Ari knew about him and Michael and hadn't told the Captain, nothing Ian could do would protect him from the consequences—just as he wouldn't be able protect himself or Michael from them once Archer found out.

"Mae's waiting for you," he said.

Ari couldn't deny it. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked, rising reluctantly.

"Sure," Ian lied. "Have fun."

"Thanks." Still hesitant, Ari left the cabin and hurried to meet Mae.

Ian was happy to be left alone with no worries of being disturbed. Ari was gone for the evening, and Michael wouldn't be stopping by. He had no reason to expect anyone else to check up on him. He had at least a few hours in which to wallow in solitude and self-pity.

"You're a pathetic fuck, Young. I guess some things really don't ever change." Chucking his datapad aside, he stood up and paced the little cabin.

He hated this helpless feeling. There were two things he knew he could do to alleviate it, but neither one appealed to him. He'd been weighing those two options for days, trying to decide which was the least objectionable, and he still hadn't reached a conclusion. The frustration built in him as he once more considered his limited alternatives.

He could go to the Captain himself and be done with the all the worrying and fretting about what was going to happen, or he could go to Hoshi and beg her not to tell Archer what she knew. The former would require a conversation with Michael first. The latter meant seeking out Hoshi and having what would undoubtedly be a painful and ugly conversation.

_Of all the things she's good at, talking is right there at the top of the list._ That alone put him at a disadvantage. There was no way he could expect to come out of that conversation a winner. He continued to stalk back and forth across the small patch of empty floor as he thought about it.

_Why do I have to win anything?_ he asked himself. _It's not a damned competition. I just need to talk to her and find out what she plans to do._

I know what she plans to do, another part of his mind reminded him. _She made that pretty clear._

_Then why hasn't she done it yet?_ That was the big question, and one he couldn't answer on his own.

He stopped in front of the wall where a small mirror hung beside his and Ari's lockers. The image it reflected was twisted with indecision and weakness and fear. It brought his anger and frustration to a head. "This sucks!" he declared to the empty cabin. In a burst of impotent rage, he punched his reflection, shattering the mirror and driving shards of glass into his knuckles.

"Shit!" He breathed in deeply against the pain. The throbbing and searing feeling was enough to clear his head of any other thoughts, and he welcomed it. He considered the mirror—the broken glass that now lay below it on the floor, the blood that tinted the shards. Then he looked at his bleeding hand. He tried flexing and bending his fingers, but the motion sent a sharp stab of agony up his arm. He decided not to do it again.

Using his good hand, Ian took a towel from the lav and wrapped it awkwardly around his injured hand. Next, he slipped his bare feet into a pair of sneakers. He couldn't tie them, so he left the laces dangling as he headed out of the cabin and off to sickbay.

Michael was at loose ends and it annoyed him. He had no idea when Ensign Sato would speak to the Captain; he only guessed she hadn't done it yet because he hadn't been hauled up before Archer. He laid back on his bunk and stared at the ceiling. His bunkmate was on duty, so he was alone in the cabin. He wished Ian were there, even though that was what had gotten them in trouble in the first place.

_How could we have been so damn stupid?_ he wondered for what seemed like the millionth time since Sato had caught them in the turbolift on New Year's Eve. He could have sworn he or Ian had hit the button for the deck they wanted, but clearly neither of them had. So the lift had simply sat there until someone hailed it—and that someone had been Sato.

He almost felt it would have been better to have been caught by Captain Archer. At least then they wouldn't be stuck in this awful limbo, waiting for the axe to fall.

_Maybe she won't tell him._ But it was an idle hope. She'd said it right then, and her voice had echoed in his mind ever since.

_"Save it for Captain Archer."_

_So why hasn't anything happened?_ He supposed it was possible that she'd reported him and Ian, and the Captain had decided not to act on the information. Michael tried to convince himself this was the case. He'd been trying for days.

_We're in deep space,_ he rationalized. _This is a situation that Starfleet's founders couldn't have considered when they made the regulations. The pressures of deep space exploration, the long-term aspect of it, make the old regs outdated and obsolete._

Just keep telling yourself that, another part of his mind said. _You might even believe it someday._

_What was I thinking?_ He rolled onto his side. He knew he wouldn't sleep well that night, if he even slept at all. He needed to talk to someone. Ian was out of the question; the two hadn't spoken since the incident. _Why can't we talk? There's no regulation against officers and crewmen _talking_ to each other._

And what would I say to him? Tell him I love him? Even if it was true he wouldn't want to hear it. He probably wouldn't even believe it.

Since it isn't true, he answered himself silently,_ why should I expect him to believe it?_

Isn't it?

The possibility brought him up short. Michael sat up straight, sleep no longer even a remote possibility. In all his mental meandering, this was the first time he'd ever faced this particular question. Normally he wasn't an overly introspective person; he took what came at face value, never wanting to stake too much on anything or anyone. Lately that had changed, but he couldn't put his finger on precisely when or why. Now the consequences of that change were staring him in the face and he had no idea what to do about it.

He threw off the covers and rose. Dressing quickly in jeans and a sweatshirt, he grabbed a half-empty bottle of vodka and a glass from his locker and left the solitude of his cabin for the solitude of the aft observation lounge. At least there he had something to look at besides the walls of the tiny room he shared with Singh. He only hoped the lounge wasn't already occupied, or he'd have to find somewhere else to be alone.

On the way, he almost changed directions towards engineering. He found the deep hum of the engines calming. Unfortunately if he went there he was bound to be questioned by the Gamma shift duty officer—particularly if he showed up toting a bottle of strong Russian vodka. _That's the last thing I need._

Michael met no one as he walked to the observation lounge. It was barely 0100 hours and the corridors were correspondingly dark and quiet.

The lounge was just as vacant as the corridors when he reached it. The lights came on to half power, triggered by his entrance.

"Computer, lights off," Michael snapped, even before the door had time to shut automatically behind him. Immediately the room darkened again. He nodded in satisfaction. He just wanted to sit, watch the stars go by, and try not to wonder what the morning might bring.

He sat on the small sofa and poured himself some vodka. He tossed it back, relishing the heat as it burned a comfortable path down his throat. Staring out the large window at the passing stars, he did his best to let their hypnotic motion lull him into quietude. When it didn't work right away, he poured another glass of vodka and drank it quickly. If the stars wouldn't do the job on their own, he would help them along.

Michael had no idea how much time passed while he sat there staring and drinking. He only knew that the bottle he'd brought with him was empty, but he couldn't be bothered to go get another one.

The door opened and the lights again came up automatically. Michael turned to see who the newcomer was, but his movements were lethargic as if he were doing it because he thought he should, not because he actually cared.

Ian stood just far enough into the room to make the door close behind him. One of his hands was deep into the pocket of his faded blue jeans. The other was bandaged and dangled at his side. His white t-shirt hung loose around the waistband of his jeans. He wore sneakers that he hadn't bothered to tie. "The computer said I'd find you here."

Michael used one hand to push himself up straighter in his seat. The empty glass slipped from his other hand and clinked noisily against the bottle at his feet. He didn't reach down to retrieve it. "You actually bothered to ask it?"

Ian frowned. "Yeah, though now I wonder why. I'll leave you to your drinking." But he didn't move.

"Whatever." Michael slouched back into the small couch.

They remained there, unmoving, for over a minute.

"You finish that whole bottle on your own?" Ian asked eventually.

"It was only half full."

"Too bad it's empty now. I wouldn't've minded drowning a few sorrows, myself."

Ian finally moved away from the door. He pulled his hand from his pocket and sat on the arm of the sofa. Michael glanced sidelong at him, then he turned his attention back to the stars. They were more difficult to see with the lights up, but he couldn't be bothered even to tell the computer to turn them down again. _Probably better not to risk getting caught together in a dark room anyway,_ the still sober part of his mind pointed out.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asked, only half interested in what the answer might be.

"I was looking for you."

"Obviously. Why?"

"I figured Maybe we should talk or something."

Now Ian had Michael's full, if fuzzy, attention. His dark brows furrowed into a deep frown. "You haven't spoken to me in a week. I left you messages and you never returned them. You've been deliberately avoiding me sinceyou know. Why the change now?"

"I think we should tell Captain Archer what happened."

Michael wasn't so drunk that he couldn't be shocked into alertness, and this more than did the trick. "You _what_?" he exclaimed, sitting up ramrod straight. "Are you nuts?"

"Would you rather keep waiting until Hoshi tells him?" countered Ian.

"Maybe she won't."

"She said—"

"I know what she said, but that was days ago. If she was going to tell him, she'd have done it by now."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Why wait?" Michael wanted to know. "It doesn't make sense. She's got nothing to gain by torturing us like this." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Unless there's something I don't know about."

Ian shook his head. "There's nothing," he said.

"Are you sure about that?"

_Not a hundred percent,_ Ian thought, but he wasn't about to admit that out loud. "Yeah, I'm sure. I don't think she's doing this to torture us. I think" Despite the hours he'd spent pondering this very question, he had difficulty putting his ideas into words. "I think she doesn't want to tell."

"Then she needs to say so," countered Michael bitterly. "I don't appreciate being jerked around like this." He glared at Ian. It was clear he wasn't referring solely to Hoshi.

"What are you talking about?" Ian demanded, immediately on the defensive.

"What do you think I'm talking about? Do you even like me, Ian? Do you have any feelings for me at all? Because frankly, I don't know."

"Are you nuts? I broke up with Hoshi so I could be with you!"

"Did you? That's what you said then, but is it true? Or was I just a convenient excuse because you were getting in over your head with her? Things were getting too serious, so you freaked out and took the first escape that presented itself." Michael watched the stunned look on Ian's face, and his lips twisted in a mirthless smile. His words had hit the mark, and no protest from Ian would convince him otherwise. "Thought so." He bent to reclaim his empty glass and bottle, and then rose to his feet. He headed for the door.

As Michael passed him, Ian reached out with his bandaged hand. "Michael, wait."

But Rostov easily avoided his clumsy grasp. He paused briefly and gave Ian a look that was a confused mix of disappointment, hurt, and disgust. "Do whatever you like, Young. I'll see you around." He turned and walked out.

Hoshi woke with a feeling of determination in her heart. She'd finally made up her mind. She still dreaded the coming interview, but now she felt she was prepared to face it head on. _Or at least I will be once I've had a shower and a quick cup of tea,_ she thought.

A short while later, she was washed and dressed for duty. There was plenty of time before Alpha shift for her to resolve the issue that had been plaguing her since the New Year.

_But first, tea,_ her mind prompted her. _There's no reason to go in there without a little fortification._

She reached the mess hall, promptly claimed a mug, and ordered Chinese green tea. Once she had that, she picked up a slice of buttered toast to go with it.

"That's not much of a breakfast," Cormack commented, coming up beside her. The armory ensign carried a foam-topped latté and a pumpkin scone.

"And that is?" Hoshi replied, nodding to the blonde woman's breakfast fare.

"It's more substantial than that, but you have a point. Join me?"

Hoshi hesitated then nodded. "Sure."

They sat down at an empty table. Cormack set down her latté and broke off a bit of her scone, popping it into her mouth and chewing happily. "Almost as good as my sister's," she commented once she'd swallowed the bite.

"Your sister bakes?" Hoshi asked, more to be polite than out of any real interest. She was too distracted to engage properly in any conversation.

"Yeah." Cormack raised an eyebrow at her. "You know that. Remember the cookies?"

"Oh! Right!" Hoshi smiled awkwardly. "How could I forget?"

Silence fell between them, and despite her own desires Hoshi broke it. She didn't want the other woman wondering what was going on, so common sense told her to make conversation. "How's Liz doing?"

"Okay. She'll be better when Travis gets back, though."

"Mm." Hoshi nodded. At the risk of appearing rude, she quickly finished her toast and drank down the last of her tea. She stood. "I need to get going."

"Oh. Okay. It was nice chatting with you," replied Cormack with a hint of irony in her voice.

Hoshi completely missed the mild sarcasm. "You, too. Sorry I have to rush off."

"Not a problem. I'll see you around."

"Sure." Hoshi headed to the door, her pace only a hair shy of a brisk jog.

Cormack watched her go, bemused. "Wonder what's up there?" she muttered to herself.

Hoshi's pace didn't slow once she'd escaped the mess hall. She dearly wanted to be done with this before her shift started, and time was passing.

She reached her destination and rang the chime. She was absurdly surprised when a sleepy-looking Ensign Cohn opened the door. "I'm sorry," she said. "Is Ian here?"

Cohn shook his head. "No." He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand as he did. "Excuse me. No, he took off early this morning."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Something about the Captain's Office," offered Cohn obscurely. "I don't know anything else. He shot out of here pretty quickly."

But Hoshi didn't need to hear any more. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. "Thanks," she said hurriedly and rushed off, leaving Ari standing bewildered in the open door way.

_Please be wrong. Please be wrong,_ she thought over and over as she rode the turbolift to the bridge. The door opened and she stepped out. "Is the Captain in his ready room?" she asked the crewman at the comm station.

"Yes, ma'am, but—"

Before the young man could tell her Archer was already with someone, she rang the chime and opened the ready room door without waiting for an answer.

"Excuse me, Captain," she began before Archer even had a chance to open his mouth. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't realize you were with someone," she lied quickly. As she babbled, she tried to catch Young's eye. There was no way to tell what he may or may not have already told Archer, but she was desperate and determined to stop him before he said anything more. But he wouldn't even look at her.

Archer frowned at her. He glanced briefly at the man standing at attention before him; Young hadn't looked over at Sato's entrance, hadn't so much as blinked. "I am, and you're dismissed," the Captain replied in a clipped fashion.

"Yes, sir, but—"

Archer cut her off. "I don't like repeating myself, Ensign." His tone was cold, his expression stony.

"I" Sato realized there was nothing she could do. Everything about the Captain's posture, voice, and expression informed her that she was too late. She'd failed. "Yes, sir." Deflated and defeated, Sato left the ready room.

Archer focused on Young once more. He said nothing about the brief and startling interruption. It was obvious to him that it had something to do with the reason Young was there. He picked up a datapad from his desk and appeared to study it intently, although his eyes only skimmed the screen; he already knew what it said. What he didn't know was how Sato fit into the scenario. Since she couldn't be the crewman involved, he decided he didn't want to know.

Young was silent. He simply remained staring straight ahead while the Captain reviewed his report again. He'd felt detached and almost analytical since handing over the datapad Archer now held. He'd spent the remainder of the night after speaking to Rostov writing up the report the pad contained. He'd carefully avoided any direct mention of Rostov in his confession of their illicit relationship. He didn't want to get him in trouble, too, even though there was a part of Young that blamed the crewman for what had happened.

_He started it,_ Young had thought repeatedly over the few hours until Alpha shift. He'd answered himself the same way every time. _And I didn't stop him._ Logically, he knew they were both at fault, but he felt it was up to Rostov to come clean on his own. Ian wouldn't take Michael down with him.

Archer watched Young for several seconds, trying to see beyond the ensign's rigid stance. Unable to read anything beneath the surface, he heaved a weary, internal sigh. Outside, though, his demeanor remained severe. Of all the broken regs he'd expected to face on this mission, he had dearly hoped this wouldn't be one.

He set the datapad down. "Your disregard for regulations is appalling." He paused for a brief moment before going on. "However, you came to me with this information of your own volition, and you've assured me your relationship with the unnamed crewman is over. Since I haven't received any complaints on this matter, I will assume for the time being that it was consensual, as you say. Be aware I will be making inquiries with Doctors Phlox and Douglas, as well as with Lieutenant Reed. If I find evidence to contradict your claims, you'll be facing an immediate full investigation and potential court-martial. Do you understand?"

Young's eyes were wide, but his face remained otherwise expressionless. His heart beat wildly, and he hoped the Captain couldn't hear it. "Yes, sir."

"It would help your situation if the crewman involved came forward." Archer's implication was clear: _Tell me who it was._

"That's not up to me, sir."

Archer was disappointed but not surprised. "You're relieved of duty until further notice. Dismissed."

Without another word, Young turned and left the room.

Once the door shut, Archer leaned back heavily in his chair. He took a moment before leaning forward again and reaching to open a comm line.

On the other side of the door, Young quickly crossed the bridge to the turbolift. He stared straight ahead, although from the corner of his eye he could see Lieutenant Reed at tactical, Fraser at the helm, and Sato at the comm station. He paused to hail the lift, stepping inside just as he heard the Captain's voice over the comm.

"Lieutenant Reed, report to my ready room."

Young accidentally caught Sato's eye before the lift door closed. The look of anguish on her face was unmistakable. It made him sick.

Malcolm sat at the computer in Trip's quarters. He still couldn't quite think of the cabin as "theirs", although he was getting better about it. He no longer automatically headed towards his old cabin after coming off shift. He hadn't quite abandoned it, though. A few of his lesser-used possessions were still there, and neither he nor Trip had mentioned their new living arrangements to anyone. It was Malcolm's safety net. He knew it bothered Trip, but so far the engineer hadn't said a word.

The door opened and Trip entered. "Hey, Malcolm," he said in greeting. "You about ready for dinner?"

"Hello. Not quite," Malcolm replied distractedly.

Trip sat on the end of the bunk and gestured to the computer. "Don't tell me you're finally writing a letter home."

"No. I wish I were."

He sounded so discouraged that Trip rose again and crossed the room. He laid his hands on Malcolm's shoulders and massaged gently. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm rewriting my duty roster for the next few weeks. Of course, if all goes well, I'll just have to change it back again in a couple of days."

Trip frowned. "What're you talking about?"

"The Captain has relieved one of my ensigns of duty," Malcolm answered flatly.

"What?" Trip was surprised. He knew Cormack well enough to know she could be a bit insubordinate at times, but he had a hard time believing she'd crossed the line far enough to be relieved of duty. "What did she do?"

Malcolm paused and turned in his seat to look up at the younger man. "Why do you assume it's Cormack? I have two ensigns under my direct command."

"Sorry," Trip backpedaled. "I didn't mean it like that." Before he could dig himself in even deeper, he asked, "Which ensign is it?"

"It's Young, as a matter of fact. But you haven't answered my question."

Trip shrugged and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just know she'sunpredictable sometimes. And you haven't really talked about her much lately. I figured maybe there was something wrong, and now she'd, I don't know, pushed it too far."

Malcolm was about to argue that it was the Captain, not he, who had made the decision, when Trip's words sank in. It was true that hadn't spoken of Cormack lately—primarily because he hadn't spoke _to_ her lately. It had been several weeks since he'd had any real social contact with her. Every encounter had either been on duty or in passing. He considered it, wondering why and when things had changed, and why he hadn't noticed. Before he could come up with any answers, Trip interrupted his thoughts.

"Malcolm? Are you okay?"

Snapped from his musings, Malcolm nodded once. "I'm fine. I just need to get this done." He turned back to the computer.

"I'll leave you alone, then." Trip pushed away from the desk. "Are we still on for dinner and the movie, though?"

"Dinner, sure, just give me another ten minutes. But you're not tricking me into agreeing to go to movie night."

"It was worth a shot," quipped Trip, a smile on his lips.

Malcolm looked apologetic and said in an overly sincere voice, "I fear that, not having seen the first two films, the subtleties of the plot of _Son of Frankenstein_ would be lost on me."

Trip chuckled. "I think you're underestimating yourself, but it's your decision. So," he went on, despite having told Malcolm he would leave him be to finish his roster, "while I'm at the movie, you're going to be writing that letter to your sister. Right?"

"I hadn't specifically planned to, but it's not impossible."

"And then you're going to write to your folks and tell them all about me. Right?" Trip pressed.

Now Malcolm fixed him with a keen look. "Is that really what you want?"

"Of course," exclaimed Trip, suddenly serious. He'd been stewing over the subject since they had discussed it two days before. "Malcolm, I love you. I'd be happy if the whole world knew it. But that's not what I'm asking. All I'm asking is that your family knows."

"I think you're overestimating the value of anonymity where my father is concerned."

"I'm willing to take that chance. But that's not the point."

"Forgive my bluntness, but what exactly is the point?" Malcolm asked sincerely.

Trip paced the cabin. "I don't know. Maybe I just want some sort of recognition. Something outside our lives here on the ship that confirms that you care about me as much as I care about you." Now that he'd begun to voice his concerns, they came tumbling out in a rush. "It's like you're trying to hide something. Like you don't want them to know about us. But why? I've told my family all about you."

"All?" Malcolm was suddenly worried.

"No, not _all_ all. You know what I mean. The stuff you tell your family when you've met the love of your life. Now, I know your family isn't like mine. I don't pretend to understand the way you all relate—or don't. But I have to wonder where you think we're going, if you won't even tell to them about us."

Malcolm was shocked by Trip's easy use of the phrase "love of your life" and tried to respond. "Trip—"

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"No!"

"Then what is it? You do love me, right? You've said you do."

"Of course I do!"

Trip continued without pause. "So I've got to believe you, because if I don't" He couldn't complete the thought, and Malcolm seized the opportunity to break in to his rant.

"Trip, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!"

"Then stop pacing. I can't talk to you while you're stalking back and forth," Malcolm said sharply.

Trip stopped and stood staring at him expectantly.

It took Malcolm a moment to decide where to begin. "I don't talk to my father," he stated simply and unequivocally. "I have occasionally tried, but since I joined Starfleet he's never acknowledged any letter I've sent. So I gave up. Before I even finished Starfleet training, I gave up. I write to my mother twice a year. On her birthday, and at the New Year." Trip looked surprised, and Malcolm went on before he could interrupt. "I'm a little behind on that one. I was planning to write to her tonight while you were at the movie, as a matter of fact. I didn't tell you because" He hesitated. "Well, it doesn't matter why because I have told you now."

"But—"

"Please let me finish. My mother is a good person. That doesn't mean I tell her everything."

"I'm not asking for 'everything'—" Trip interrupted again. And again Malcolm cut him off.

"I know that. Justlet me do this my own way. Please." There was a pained but hopeful look in his eyes. Tension was evident in every muscle. "I promise I will get there eventually, if you'll just continue to be patient."

Trip pursed his lips in dissatisfaction and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. When he spoke, his words surprised Malcolm. "I'm not Rupert, you know."

"I never said you were."

"No, but you keep acting like I'm gonna turn on you. Like you think if you let your guard down, I'm gonna hurt you—deliberately hurt you."

Malcolm rose and finally came out from behind the desk. "I know you wouldn't do that."

"Yeah? I think you really mean that, but I also think there's still a part of you that's afraid I'm gonna turn out to be just the same as that son of a bitch. And that hurts, Malcolm."

Malcolm reached out a hand towards Trip's arm, hoping his touch would say what his words couldn't. But the engineer stepped back before he could make contact. "Trip—"

"You know what? I'm not real hungry anymore." He dropped his arms and moved toward the door. "I'm gonna godosomething." He really had no idea how he was going to fill the time until the movie, but it wasn't going to be here with Malcolm. "Leave you alone so you can finish what you're doing."

"Trip, please don't go."

"Make up your mind, Malcolm. What do you want?"

"Stay." Malcolm steeled himself for what he was about to say. "We'll record that letter to Madeline that we talked about, and then we'll record one to your family. Just like we said the other day."

"And your letter to your mom?"

"I'll record it while you're at the movie, just like I'd planned before. That's all I can promise right now." _I just hope it's enough for you,_ he added silently.

Trip considered Malcolm's suggestions before replying. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was more than he'd expected. _Hell, I didn't even expect to have this conversation!_ he thought. He hadn't planned to grill his lover about their relationship or Malcolm's family. It had just sort of happened. "Okay," he said at last. "Let's talk to Madeline."

Malcolm visibly relaxed; he even came close to smiling. "Okay."

Stephanie entered the mess hall with heavy, tired steps. She chose a particularly large mug and set it under the drinks dispenser. "Triple grande latté," she ordered. She'd stayed up late last night, listening to her new music and replaying her mail. It was after midnight when she'd received a message from Lieutenant Reed stating that the armory team's duty roster had changed abruptly. Suddenly she was stuck doing a bridge shift, half a shift off, and then a half shift in the armory. Now she had to tell Bonnie that she couldn't meet her for dinner and the movie as they'd planned. _Movie night every night this week and when they finally show one I want to see, this happens,_ she thought in irritation.

Taking her filled mug, she walked along the breakfast buffet, eyeing her options. In the end, she decided she deserved an almond croissant as compensation for her stolen evening.

A smile and a wave from across the mess hall caught Stephanie's attention. She smiled back and wove her way through the tables to where Bonnie and Mae already sat.

"Hey there, beautiful," Bonnie greeted her lover happily.

"Hey, yourself." Stephanie set down her breakfast and kissed her good morning before taking a seat.

"Did Mae tell you her news?"

"Huh? No." Stephanie glanced at the engineer curiously. "What news?"

Mae looked annoyed, but whether it was with her bunkmate or someone else was unclear. "I got a letter from August yesterday."

"Cool. How's he doing?"

"Fine. Great. Mom's getting married to a 'chinless politician'."

Stephanie nearly spat out her coffee. Fortunately, she was able to swallow the precious liquid, only just managing not to choke on it. "Oh!" she coughed. "Uhcongratulations?"

"Thanks," Mae said flatly, not even smiling at her friend's near spit-take. She downed the last of her own latté and then ran a finger along the inside of the mug, collecting the leftover foam. The look on her face dared her friends to chide her for her table manners as she licked it from her finger.

Stephanie wasn't about to challenge her. As far as she was concerned, Mae had earned that foam. "At least you don't have to go to the wedding," she offered in consolation.

"Am I being childish?" Mae asked her friends suddenly.

"Only with the foam," teased Bonnie.

"Is it stupid not to want her to marry some guy fromsomeplace humid? It's not like it even affects me."

"It affects you. I think the problem is that you can't affect it," Stephanie suggested.

Mae and Bonnie both looked surprised. "That was pretty deep for being mostly pre-caffeine," said Mae.

"Yeah, it was." Stephanie shrugged. "I have my moments," she added with a joking smile.

"So, did you get any interesting mail from home?" Mae wanted to get the topic away from herself.

"Yeah, actually, I did." Stephanie wasn't quite ready to share the stranger parts of her letter from Ryn, but she did pass on the particularly funny story about her mother and a container of strained beets.

Mae laughed. "That sounds like my brother's letter. He was feeding Sam at the time."

Stephanie chuckled. "I'm so glad I don't have one of those," she said emphatically.

"A baby or a brother?" joked Mae, already knowing the answer.

"I don't have any amusing baby food stories to share," Bonnie interjected, "but I got two new Rowan's Circle songs from my cousin."

"Cool! I can't wait to hear them!" Stephanie was about to tell her about the new Cordelia's Sisters album she had gotten, but then she remembered the bad news she had to share. Her face fell. "I almost forgot. I can't do dinner and the movie tonight."

Bonnie's expression was equally disappointed. "What happened?"

"I got stuck with a half shift in the armory tonight—second half of Beta shift, to be precise. I'd've preferred doing a straight twelve hours and going from the bridge to the armory, but no such luck."

"But what happened to change the schedule?"

"I wish I knew." Stephanie took a bite of her croissant, scattering crumbs on her small plate and the table around it. She glanced down at the mess grumpily and chased the bite down with a long swallow of her latté. "Should've gone for the scone, I guess."

"So, what?" Bonnie pressed. "Lieutenant Reed just dumps this on you without an explanation?"

"He's my C.O. He's not required to explain when he changes a duty roster."

"No, but it would be nice. He's been kind of a jerk to you lately. This just ices the cake."

"What?" Stephanie frowned in puzzlement. "He didn't screw up our date on purpose. He probably didn't even know we had a date."

"Par for the course," said Bonnie as if the blonde woman's words simply confirmed what she, herself, had already said.

"What course? It's too early to be so cryptic."

Mae watched the dialogue in cautious silence. She and Bonnie had discussed this very thing more than once over the past month. She wondered if Stephanie was even aware of the increased distance between herself and Reed.

"I mean," Bonnie said intently, "you and the Lieutenant have barely spoken to one another since the armory fire when he was such a complete prick to you. I don't know what bug is up his ass, but he needs to get over it."

"Whoa, whoa! Where the hell did this come from all of a sudden?" asked Stephanie in shock.

"It's not sudden. It's been going on for over a month. I can't believe you haven't even noticed."

Stephanie was about to protest, but stopped. She took a moment to think about what Bonnie was saying, and once she had, she realized her lover was right. Not that she would admit it out loud. "I don't know," she said. "He's busy. I'm busy." She shrugged noncommittally.

Bonnie gave her a disparaging look. "No one on this ship has been 'busy' for days. How come you and he haven't even had breakfast together? You used to do that at least once every week or two."

Now Stephanie squirmed like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "I did ask him if he wanted to join me for lunch one time last week. He said he had something to do that couldn't wait. No big deal."

Bonnie and Mae exchanged a knowing glance. Bonnie turned back to Stephanie. "You should talk to him."

"Why?"

"Supposedly he's your friend as well as your C.O. Friends talk to each other—about non-work stuff," Bonnie added before Stephanie could make that particular argument.

"If he has a problem with me, why wouldn't he just tell me?"

Finally Mae spoke up. "Not everyone's as direct as you are about that kind of stuff."

"Malcolm's direct."

"About personal stuff?" countered Bonnie.

"Well, okay, not so much, but I've never had a problem communicating with him or vice versa," insisted Stephanie, conveniently forgetting the several occasions when she'd been unable to talk with her C.O. for one reason or another.

"As far as you know."

"Bonnie's right," said Mae. "If he didn't talk to you about something, how would you know?"

"Now who's being too deep and thoughtful before coffee?" challenged Stephanie in mild pique.

"I've had my coffee."

"Me, too," Bonnie added.

Stephanie eyed her friends for several moments. She tried to remain resolute, but her resolve crumbled. "Maybe I should talk to him."

"Maybe yeah," agreed Bonnie harshly.

"Can I finish _my_ coffee?"

Brought up short by Stephanie's sharp retort, Bonnie and Mae exchanged a contrite look before the engineer replied. "That's probably a good idea."

"Good."

"But you need to talk to him," Bonnie insisted.

"I will! Geez!" exclaimed Stephanie defensively. She looked intently at her lover. "This is really bugging you, isn't it? And you, too," she added, looking at Mae.

Mae shrugged, but Bonnie nodded. "Yeah, it really is."

Now that it had been brought to her attention, Stephanie had to admit—at least to herself—that it bothered her, too. She missed hanging out with Malcolm during their down time. It was never a particularly frequent thing, but she'd missed the recent lack of social time with her C.O. even before she'd realized it might have been deliberate—or that she might not ever have it again. Now she wanted to be sure she got it—and her friend Malcolm—back. "Okay. I'll talk to him."

Travis was happy to be back on _Enterprise_. He set his duffel bag down on his bunk, and then sat next to it. His visit with his family had been unexpectedly eventful, but he wouldn't have traded a moment of the time. Before he could even begin to unpack, the door chimed. He had a fair idea who it was. "Come in," he called, rising.

Liz entered and immediately embraced him. "Welcome home," she said.

He returned the hug enthusiastically, and they kissed. "Thanks. It's good to be back." They released one another and sat down on his bunk side by side.

"How are you?" Liz asked, resting her hand on his.

"I'm really good," Travis answered with a smile. He turned his hand palm up so he could lace his fingers with hers.

"And your family?"

"They're good, too. Paul's getting the hang of being the Captain. Mom's keeping the ship and the crew together, just like she always has."

"That's good." She held back what she really wanted to say—that she was sorry she hadn't gotten to meet them. She understood Travis's reasons for wanting to go alone, but Liz couldn't help feeling left out and almost cheated of the opportunity to meet his family.

"You know," Travis went on, almost as if he'd read her mind, "they're going to be around for another day or so. There's a little problem with something on the hull, and I told them Lieutenant Reed could help with it."

"Wouldn't Commander Tucker be more helpful if it's a problem with the hull?" asked Liz, puzzled.

"Not this time. It's a long story," he added, before she could inquire further. "I thought maybe you'd like a tour of the _Horizon_ while it's here."

Liz's face lit up as she guessed where he was going. "Really?"

"Yeah. And maybe there'd be a little time for you to meet my mom and Paul."

"I'd really like that!"

Travis smiled broadly. "You think you would. You haven't met them yet," he joked.

"I'm not worried," replied Liz boldly. "If your brother is anything like you, he'll be an absolute doll. And your mom must be fabulous to have raised a son as terrific as you."

Travis considered her assumptions and laughed. "Well you're half right," he said. "But I'm not going to tell you which half."

"I can handle it."

He looked at her. Her determined expression made her round face that much more beautiful, and he smiled a soft, tender smile full of warmth and love.

Liz shifted a little awkwardly, uncertain at his sudden scrutiny. "What?"

"You're amazing. You're beautiful; you're smart; you're fun." A thousand words rushed into his mind, choking him with their truth. "I love you."

Liz felt her cheeks flush. "I love you, too."

"Come on." Travis rose and pulled her up with him. "I'll take you on that tour."

"Don't you want to unpack first?" she asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "Plenty of time for that later. Now it's time for you to meet my family."

  
End Log 2:24  
_Completed 13 May 04_


	25. Log 2:25

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

**Log 2:25**: (Takes place between _Cogenitor_ and _Regeneration_.)  
_Rating PG, language_  
**Author's Notes**: Between Idris's and Squeaky Lightfoot's evil plot bunnies, it's a wonder anyone in this series ever gets a moment's rest… Thanks, ladies! ;->  
Ensign Ari Cohn belongs to Squeaky Lightfoot and is used with permission.

The command bridge staff and Doctor Phlox stood around the table in the Situation Room. Archer rubbed his temple absently and cleared his throat. He was sure it was his imagination, but were he back on Earth he would have been positive he was coming down with something. Here on _Enterprise_, the possibility was slim. He cleared his throat again to hide a cough and ignored an inquisitive look from Phlox.

"Sub-commander," he said instead to his Science Officer, "you requested this meeting."

"Yes," she confirmed. T'Pol looked at each of those present to be certain she had everyone's attention. "The system we're approaching has a white F-type star and six planets, the fourth of which is M-class. However, it appears to be undergoing an ice age. Over sixty percent of its surface is covered by glaciers. No sentient life forms have been identified, and there is no indication of any centers of habitation." She tapped a command sequence into the console and a thermal image of the planet appeared on the wall screen.

"Is there any reason to check it out further?" asked Archer, examining the screen. The area around the planet's equator appeared almost temperate, but only a few degrees from it in either direction the world became a frozen wasteland.

Phlox spoke up. "I believe there is. From what little we've learned thus far, it's possible that there might be some potentially useful organisms down there."

Archer looked doubtful. "There were a lot of qualifiers in that sentence, Doctor."

"Yes," admitted the Denobulan reluctantly. "However, I could make a more definite determination if we were to, say, orbit the planet for forty-eight hours?"

"How long until we reach it?" the Captain asked his helmsman.

"At current speed, less than a day," Mayweather responded immediately. "If we pick up the pace a little, we could make it late tonight."

Archer considered it, glancing around to see if anyone else had an opinion. No one did. He stifled another cough before going on. "All right. Increase speed to warp three point five." He looked at Phlox. "You'll have your two days." As the bridge crew headed back to their stations, Archer added more quietly to the doctor, "May I have a word with you in my ready room?"

"Of course."

They entered the small room.

"Have a seat," Archer said, taking one behind the desk.

Phlox sat down opposite him. "Are you feeling quite well, Captain?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thank you. I want to talk about Ensign Young."

"Ah!" It wasn't what Phlox had expected to hear, but neither was it surprising. The two had been in discussion about the situation since shortly after Archer had become aware of it. "You want to know if anything new has come to light since we last spoke."

"Yes. I'll be talking to Reed and Douglas, too, before making my final determination." He raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it. He definitely had a headache. _Must be stress,_ he thought. _I'll be glad when this Young problem is dealt with._

"There's nothing new to tell you. Whether that's a good sign or not is anyone's guess. The last time I spoke with Ensign Young was when I did a final examination of his hand."

"Did you ever find out exactly what happened?" Archer asked, wondering briefly if it would be breaking doctor-patient confidentiality for Phlox to tell him. As it turned out, there was no confidence to break.

"Not officially, no," Phlox said. "I stand by my original judgment. I think he struck something—most likely a mirror, based on the debris I removed from the wound."

"The quartermaster's records support that. His bunkmate, Ensign Cohn, put in a request for a new shaving mirror two days after the incident."

Phlox nodded, unsurprised. "I also think he was alone at the time."

"Why do you say that?

"Oh, his appearance when he came to see me, and the way the hand was bandaged. I use the term 'bandaged' loosely."

"And you've seen nothing in any other member of the crew that would suggest he or she was the crewman involved in the relationship? Nothing that suggests someone was coerced?"

"Nothing. You're welcome to read the official medical records on any of the crew, but I can assure you that no one has come to me with any sort of injury or condition that would suggest abuse or coercion of any kind."

"No one has come to you," echoed Archer. "That's where the system falls down."

"If this unnamed crewman doesn't choose to come forward, there's little to be done about it," Phlox said with a mix of resignation and consolation.

"I could order Young to give up the name."

"Yes, hmm. Excuse my assumption, Captain, but if you intended to do that, surely you would have done so by now."

It was true. Archer had been counting on the unknown crewman to have the same intestinal fortitude as Young had shown. Unfortunately, that hadn't been the case. It was an ugly and unpleasant business all around. He didn't enjoy investigating a member of his crew. He didn't like thinking that any one of them could be capable of the behavior the situation implied. Everyone on board had been either hand-picked by Archer or his chosen department heads, or they had come to him with high recommendations and outstanding records. These were circumstances he—perhaps foolishly—had never anticipated.

"Captain," Phlox went on, "I know this is difficult. However, there is only so much you can do without stepping over boundaries you clearly don't wish to cross."

"It shouldn't be about what I wish," Archer said, playing devil's advocate against himself.

"No. It should be about what's best for the crew. If you feel it's best to let this matter rest, then there's nothing more to be done."

Archer took a moment to consider what Phlox said. Sometimes he found it helpful to have a member of his staff with a cultural viewpoint so different from his own. At other times, it just gave him too much to think about. "Thank you, Doctor," he said now.

Phlox recognized it for the dismissal it was. Unoffended by the abrupt end to the conversation, he rose. "Now, Captain, if you'll kindly accompany me to sickbay, we'll see what I can do for that headache and cough you have," he said.

Archer feigned ignorance. "What?"

"It's obvious you're not well, Captain, and I'm sure you know how dangerous an uncontained virus can be in a closed environment."

"Where would I have caught anything? Like you said, this ship is a closed system."

"Lieutenant Reed caught a cold that had been dormant for months in a case of plasma coolant that was sealed back at Jupiter Station," Phlox reminded him. "It could be that the Vissians brought over something our regular bioscans didn't pick up. Whatever the case, Captain, I recommend you come with me to sickbay now." The tone of his voice was more order than request.

Archer knew he was right. The last thing he needed was to infect the crew with a virus, whether alien or human in origin. "All right," he agreed, and rose to his feet with an effort he tried to conceal. "I could use a change of scenery."

Phlox rolled the diagnostic table out of the large medical scanner.

"That wasn't really the scenery I wanted to see," Archer joked weakly once he'd emerged. He sat up on his elbows, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. "So what's the word?"

"Influenza."

"I have the flu?" Archer was incredulous. He sat up all the way and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Where did it come from? The Vissians?"

"No. It's a standard Earth variety," Phlox informed him.

"But how?"

"Remember Lieutenant Reed and the plasma coolant? Can you think of anything you might have come in contact with in the last week that could have contained a dormant virus?"

But the Captain already knew. He moaned. "My parents' anniversary."

Phlox looked befuddled. "I beg your pardon?"

Archer tried to think of a brief, simple way to explain that his parents' anniversary had passed last week and he always marked the occasion with a toast to their memories. This year that had required opening a new bottle of single malt scotch—a bottle that was sealed inside an airtight container by someone in Edinburgh over two years ago.

"I opened a sealed container on my parents' anniversary last Wednesday," he said at last.

"That could well be it. Was anyone else with you?"

"Trip."

Phlox crossed to a comm panel and opened a line. "Phlox to Commander Tucker. Please report to sickbay immediately." He closed the comm without waiting for a reply. Next he filled a hypospray and administered it to Archer as he spoke. "This will alleviate a good deal of your symptoms for the time being. I'll see that you're given a booster in twelve hours. Now you have a choice, Captain. You can either spend the next three days quarantined here or in your quarters. If Commander Tucker has also contracted the virus, then you'll have company either way."

Archer considered the choices: trapped in his quarters alone; trapped in his quarters with Trip; or trapped in sickbay with Phlox, Phlox's menagerie of exotic animals, assorted medical staff, and any other crewmembers who happened to stop in. "I'll return to my quarters." He rose.

"Go directly there," Phlox advised. "I'm sure I needn't remind you about the danger of spreading the virus."

"I know my history." Archer departed, passing the newly arrived Tucker as he went.

"Captain?" the engineer asked, concerned to see him looking so unwell.

"He'll explain," Archer replied, gesturing unceremoniously at Phlox with his thumb. He left his friend standing bemused in the doorway.

Stephanie stood at the head of the weight bench, spotting as Mae lifted.

"Is Liz joining us?" the engineer asked between presses.

"Nope. She started Beta-shift today."

"Oh," grunted Mae.

Stephanie continued carrying the conversation so Mae could put her energy into her workout. "She was a little annoyed at first since Travis usually works Alpha-shift, but apparently the gods are smiling on her. He's on Beta, too, starting tomorrow. It makes me wonder if the Captain isn't just a little bit partial, you know?"

"What…d'you mean?"

Stephanie shrugged although her friend wasn't looking at her. "Don't get me wrong. I don't begrudge them the time together. I just wonder if Captain Archer doesn't maybe see the science team's schedule and then plan accordingly, eh? I'm probably just jealous," she admitted. "I start Gamma-shift tonight, and where will Bonnie be? Sleeping so she can be awake for Alpha-shift bridge duty."

Mae returned the weight bar to its rest and sat up. Stephanie handed her a towel as they traded places.

"I know where you're coming from," Mae said. "But I don't think the Captain figures personal relationships into his calculations when he schedules the bridge crew rotation. I can't believe he has time for it."

"You're right…I'm sure," answered Stephanie, beginning her last round of bench presses. "Like I said…just jealous."

Mae chuckled at her friend's obvious frustration. "You should bake something."

"Huh?"

"Remember? Women bake to resist…"

Stephanie joined her half-way through the saying. "…to resist the urge to merge." She let the bar rest in its stand for a moment as she tilted her head enough to make eye contact with the engineer. "You know me too well."

Mae gave her a cheeky grin in reply.

"Maybe I can talk Chef into letting me bake cookies again. If I offer to make enough for dessert for the whole crew, he might just go for it. And if he still thinks I can't be trusted in his galley without supervision, I bet Hoshi would be up for it. We had fun last time, and she seems like she could really use a pick-me-up." Stephanie took hold of the bar again and returned to her workout.

"If not, I'll keep you company," Mae offered. "I know I don't hold the credibility with Chef that Hoshi does, but at least I'm considered the responsible type."

Stephanie grunted a laugh as she lifted. "In what…alternate universe?" she joked.

They continued in silence for a while. The only noise was their breathing and the ever-present low hum of the engines. It wasn't until they'd swapped places again that Stephanie went on.

"I bet Bonnie'd like to bake cookies with me."

Mae raised an eyebrow and looked up at her from the weight bench. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Stephanie smirked back. "You have your euphemisms; I have mine. But in this case I actually just meant baking cookies. Of course, we could also make some…other things while we're there. Chocolate body paint comes to mind."

Mae's immediate intonation of "La-la-la-la…" made Stephanie laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll stop."

"Thank you." Mae finished her final set of presses in silence, and the pair moved to the nearby treadmills. They both started up at a slow jog.

"I hate running," Mae said flatly.

"It is demon-spawn," agreed Stephanie.

"If we had any sense, we'd stop."

"And yet our legs keep moving."

"I wonder if we're ever going to finish that RPG we started last year."

Stephanie glanced at her sidelong. "Non-sequitur theatre?"

"Of course," quipped Mae.

"Somehow I doubt we'll ever finish that game. With Hoshi and Ian's break-up and the fact that they don't even seem to be talking to each other any more…"

"Yeah. It sucks. It was getting really good."

"I know! The tachyons, the time travel, the covert ops…" Stephanie sighed in disappointment.

"Maybe we could go on without them?"

"I asked Liz about that, actually. A couple of weeks ago."

"And?"

"And she said we'd have to convince them both to let someone else play their characters through the end of the campaign." It was clear from her tone that she doubted the likelihood of this happening.

"Hoshi might go for it," speculated Mae. "But Ian..."

"Unlikely," Stephanie finished for her. "And seeing as he's got nothing better to do right now, I really can't imagine it." She had known right away when Young was temporarily relieved of duty, but she'd kept it to herself. Now that word had filtered throughout the crew, she felt no compunctions about discussing it openly. No one in the know was talking about why it had happened, so the rest of the crew were left to wonder and speculate. Even the armory team didn't have all the details, and they were the ones pulling additional shifts as a result.

Stephanie was personally annoyed by it all. She hadn't been able to get so much as a hint of explanation from Lieutenant Reed. The wall that had built up between them continued to keep her at a distance. It had really begun to bother her—and not just because it meant she wasn't privy to inside information.

"I wonder what the hell he was thinking," Mae said, pulling Stephanie from her musings.

"I wish I knew."

"He was an idiot to dump her."

Stephanie realized they were talking about completely different things and redirected her thoughts accordingly. "He didn't dump her," she protested, automatically defending her fellow armory ensign. "He just… Never mind. He did dump her. The git." But her heart wasn't in the insult. She wasn't sure why, but she felt as badly for Ian as she did for Hoshi, possibly even more. _I mean, he's a total prick sometimes, but he was definitely happier when they were together,_ she thought.

They jogged in silence for a while, each lost in her own thoughts.

"Maybe Ian would turn his character over to Ari," Mae said suddenly, surprising Stephanie.

"Huh?"

"I said, maybe Ian would turn Butch over to Ari. They're best friends, bunkmates. He might do it."

Stephanie couldn't help smirking a little. "And you don't have any ulterior motive other than wanting the game to continue."

"I never said that." Mae grinned.

"It's worth a shot, but we'd still need a replacement for Hoshi."

"Or, if Ian will give over Butch, maybe Hoshi would come back to the game."

"I'd be cool with that, but it's not exactly fair to Ian."

"Ian's the one who screwed things up in the first place."

"I suppose so," Stephanie reluctantly conceded.

There was another long pause punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of their feet on the treadmills.

It was Stephanie who broke this silence. "You and Ari going to the movie tonight?" she asked.

"Planning on it, yeah. How cool is it that he's into B-movies, too?"

"Very cool. And I'm sure it's completely coincidental."

"What?"

Stephanie replied too innocently, "Nothing. He's practically perfect in every way."

"He's not Mary Poppins."

"No." Stephanie shot Mae a sly glance. "I just wanted to make sure you understood at least one twentieth-century film reference that wasn't a cheesy horror flick."

"Ha, ha. You coming tonight?"

"Nope. I'm getting tired of a diet of black and white cheese."

"But it isn't tonight. It's an old Hollywood movie musical."

"I'll pass. Besides, Gamma-shift, remember? We finish here, I'm catching a shower, some dinner, and then a nap."

"What about cookies?"

"Ugh. Forgot." Stephanie thought for a moment. "Tomorrow. I'll ask Chef when I come off duty in the morning."

"Don't forget. I want cookies."

"So you'll have to run an extra kilometer?"

"So I have a reason not to die after running _this_ kilometer."

Stephanie would have laughed if she'd had the breath to spare. As it was, she merely grunted once. Then they both upped the pace on their treadmills, and all talking ceased.

Phlox smiled as he pored over the data before him. Now that _Enterprise_ was in orbit over the frozen world, sensors had been able to pick up some very interesting things. Several microorganisms looked promising, as did a few larger species. One arachnid had particularly captured his interest, and there were some intriguing equatorial plants he wanted to investigate. Teams would have to be sent to the planet to collect samples, but with the evidence he had he was certain the Captain would agree to the mission. Despite being confined to his cabin, Archer had left orders that he was to be kept apprised of all mission information. Since it was easier to appease him than convince him not to worry about it, Phlox had agreed to the request.

As luck would have it, his examination of Commander Tucker had shown the chief engineer to be free of the influenza virus. Phlox had been quite relieved, but he also planned to remain vigilant. He had studied a great deal of Earth's medical history and knew the damage that could be done by the illness humans innocuously called "the flu".

He glanced at the chronometer. It shone a bright green 0329. No matter Archer's wishes, Phlox couldn't possibly contact him for several hours. Phlox had ordered bed-rest, after all. It wouldn't do for him to countermand his own order.

He decided to put the intervening time to good use. He turned back to the sensor data and found four promising landing sites to back up his proposal—two for the flora he wanted, and two for the fauna. Then he downloaded the information to a datapad to be presented to the Captain when he went to check on him in the morning.

Next Phlox made certain the day's duty nurse had complete instructions for dealing with Archer while Phlox was on the planet—including advice on how to bully him into following doctor's orders even when the doctor wasn't there. He checked to see who was scheduled, and smiled at what he found. Med-tech Northfield was due in for Alpha shift. She was strong-willed and knew her job. She would have no trouble "pulling rank" on the Captain if necessary.

All this was done in less than two hours. He still had time before he could contact Archer. He contemplated running his suggested landing sites by T'Pol to get her input, but even she was unlikely to be awake at this early hour.

"I suppose I could use a break…and a snack," he said to no one. His Pyrithian bat chattered in reply, and he rose and crossed sickbay to look into her cage. "You want a snack too, hmm? All right." He moved to another cage containing several small, furry mammals resembling shrews. He carefully opened the cage and deftly grabbed one of the occupants. Holding it by the scruff of its tiny neck, he secured the cage door and went back to the bat. "Here you go," he cooed, lifting the feeding door and dropping the shrew inside. There was a brief flurry of activity, and then the bat went quiet, happily gnawing its treat.

Phlox's stomach growled suddenly. "Now it's my turn for a little something." He briefly considered having one of the shrews himself—they were tasty and high in protein—but he decided he wasn't in the mood for anything furry. Instead he headed to the mess hall to see what he might find.

Cormack tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as she handed over her shift report to Lieutenant Reed. "Excuse me, sir," she said.

"Difficult night?" he inquired.

"Not so much. I just get jet-lagged whenever I start a round of Gamma-shift."

"Ah." He looked at the datapad she'd given him. "Everything looks to be in order. You're relieved."

"Thank you, sir." She started to go and then hesitated, remembering her promise to Bonnie that she would speak to Malcolm. It had been weeks, and she still hadn't done it. She just didn't know where to start. "Lieutenant."

Reed had already crossed to the main control console. He turned back, surprised to hear her speak. He'd assumed she'd gone. "Yes, Ensign?"

"I…" She hesitated again, not at all sure what she was going to say, but knowing she had to say something if she was going to regain his friendship. "I got the new Cordelia's Sisters album—in the big mail dump a while back. Maybe you want to listen to it sometime?"

"Yes, thanks," Reed answered, his tone a mix of formality and discomfort. "Have you downloaded it into the main computer so I can access it later?"

Cormack's heart sank. It wasn't at all the response she'd hoped for. She shook her head. "No. But I'll do that today…now I know you're interested. Good-night, Lieutenant." She didn't wait for his reply. _Really, what's to say?_ she thought morosely. She was tired and disappointed—and she still had to stop by the galley before getting some sleep. Unfortunately, cookies no longer sounded as appetizing as they had the evening before.

Reed didn't watch her go. Her voice was enough to tell him she was unhappy; he didn't need to see it in her face, too. He heard the familiar sound of the door sliding shut, and relaxed marginally. He knew what the problem was between them, and he felt bad about it.

He ignored the feeling, tucking it neatly away in a dark corner of his mind.

Reed turned to the task of monitoring the ship's defensive systems. However, orbiting an uninhabited and apparently unclaimed planet, simply monitoring wasn't enough to keep his mind occupied. It strayed back to Ensign Cormack. The disappointment in her voice when he'd turned down what had obviously been an invitation was only the most recent sign of the rift between them—a rift he knew he had caused and which he knew he would have to be the one to mend. He had rebuffed her attempts at sociability so many times now that he was surprised she even bothered to try anymore.

_Hmm. What does that tell you?_ he asked himself. But he still wasn't able to make himself talk to her, explain to her why he had reacted the way he had to her actions during the armory fire—for that was definitely when he'd caused the break between.

He looked around the armory now. If he hadn't seen the damage with his own eyes, he would never have believed it. His team, together with Trip's engineers, had put the place back together with incredible skill and speed after the accident. He tried to wonder if he'd ever told Cormack personally how impressed he'd been with her during the repairs, but he knew he hadn't. Even if he didn't admit it aloud, he couldn't deny to himself how thoughtless he'd been. He'd commended her actions during and after the emergency in his final incident report, but unless the Captain had told her of it, she didn't know.

_He probably thinks I told her...like I ought to have. Face it, Malcolm. You've not only been a poor friend, but you've left a lot to be desired as a commanding officer._ He wasn't sure he could do anything about the former, but he resolved to deal with the latter. He would speak to her at the next opportunity that presented itself.

As Reed reached his decision, Cormack reached her cabin. She'd taken a quick side trip to the galley and spoken with Chef, getting the go-ahead from him to bake cookies later that week. She entered the cabin and was surprised to see her bunkmate awake and dressed in a cold-weather uniform.

"Hey," Stephanie said in greeting.

"Hi!" replied Liz enthusiastically.

"What are you doing up? I figured you'd be sleeping in." The blonde woman sat on her bunk and pulled off her boots.

"I would have been, but Phlox needs me for an away mission."

"For what? Setting up an eighteen-hole golf course over a glacier?" She rose and began to remove her uniform. Even with the nap she'd had the previous evening, she was tired after her night shift. She was looking forward to sleeping.

Liz knew her well enough not to take her sarcastic tone personally. "There are some interesting entomological finds on the planet. Ari and I are going to check them out. See if there's anything worth bringing back. I'll let you know if the place is good for snowshoeing," she joked.

"Don't freeze to death," Stephanie quipped dryly in reply.

"I'll try to remember that. See you later."

"See you."

Liz left her bunkmate alone in the quiet cabin. Stephanie finished getting ready for bed, turned out the light, and climbed under the covers. It wasn't long before she was fast asleep.

Cutler met Phlox and crewman Doyle in the launch bay. Along with Ensign Fraser, who would be their pilot, they were loading collection equipment and backpacks of cold-weather supplies into Shuttlepod One. Cutler pitched in to help as Ensign Cohn emerged from the staging room with warm jackets for them all.

With the last of the gear stowed, Cohn passed around the jackets and everyone climbed into the pod.

Doyle shut the port hatch as the others got settled. Fraser took her place at the helm. She opened the comm and hailed the bridge. "Shuttlepod One ready for launch," she informed them.

"You have a go," answered Sato.

The bay doors opened and Fraser guided the pod into space.

Cutler and Cohn stood in the snow beside the shuttlepod at the foot of a frozen mountain. The air was tight with cold, and the sounds of distant, shifting glaciers reached their ears. Not a single cloud dotted the sky as the light of the early morning sun filtered over the mountain, reflecting off the unbroken layer of snow that covered the ground in all directions. It promised to be a beautiful, bitingly cold day.

Cutler adjusted her polarized goggles before reaching out a gloved hand to take the silver case Phlox held. It contained the equipment they would need to collect the various specimens on their list.

"We'll be back for you in three hours," Phlox said, his breath coming out in puffs of cloud.

Cohn nodded and resettled the pack on his back. A shiver ran through his body as a gust of icy wind passed over them. "I look forward to it."

Phlox pulled the hatch shut, and the pod lifted up off the hard-packed snow.

Left on their own, the ensigns looked around. Everything was sparkling white, from the mountain that loomed over them, to the scattered and stunted trees several meters off to their right.

Cutler scanned the trees, their twisted branches heavy with ice. She smiled. "Perfect. Let's go."

They headed out, snowshoes flapping softly with every step.

Young woke very slowly. Since being relieved of duty, he'd pretty much given up on following standard ship's time. He'd been up very late the night before, drinking by himself in one of the lesser-used observation lounges. He'd found it was a good place to go to be alone with little possibility of interruption. He was feeling the aftereffects of his binge now.

He sat up, his head vehemently protesting the motion. The blinking light on the computer indicated he had a message waiting, but he decided it could keep waiting. He doubted he could read it with his head pounding, anyway. He rose and groped his way to the lav. The light came on automatically as he entered, making him flinch and cover his eyes with one hand. His other hand fumbled for the control and turned off the light.

Continuing to feel his way, he found the medicine cabinet over the sink. Eventually, his hands landed on the bottle of painkillers he'd swiped from sickbay. He poured out the few pills that remained and swallowed them dry, trying not to gag. _Need to get more of those,_ he thought, filling a glass with water and drinking it down. It had been easy last time. Ian had simply taken the bottle from a supply cabinet while the duty nurse was out of sight. That was the day Phlox had done a final check of his busted up hand. He flexed the hand instinctively, remembering the damage he'd done when he'd punched the mirror. _Not doing that again._

He set down the glass and made his way back to his bunk, still ignoring the blinking message light. He climbed between the stale sheets and was soon asleep.

As Phlox had done earlier, Fraser handed a silver case out the pod's hatch. This time it was crewman Doyle who took it.

"Thanks," he said.

"Are you guys sure you don't need any help?" she asked. Botany was vaguely interesting to her, and it sure beat the heck out of twiddling her thumbs and waiting with the pod. Although she had to admit it was tough to beat the view. The shuttlepod currently sat on a natural stone shelf just one hundred meters from the dark blue ocean and half that distance from a lush, temperate rainforest. While the air certainly wasn't warm here on the planet's equatorial coastline, it was far more pleasant than where they'd left Cutler and Cohn—even if that snow-covered vista did remind her of home.

"No thank you, Ensign," Phlox replied. "We'll hail you if we need assistance. Otherwise, expect us back in two hours."

"All right." She handed one last piece of gear to Doyle, holding onto it until he met her gaze. "Don't bring back any poisonous orchid vines this time, okay?" she said only half-jokingly.

"You have my word, ma'am," the young man replied with sincerity.

Fraser nodded and let him go. She watched them make their way out towards the rainforest and called after them, "Watch out for Bigfoot!"

Doyle waved back in reply, and Fraser continued to watch until the two men reached the treeline. She turned away from them then and faced the ocean, zipping up her jacket against the damp breeze. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of the salt water on the rocky shore. "Damn, I wish Stephanie could see this—and _smell_ it. She'd love it." Fraser hadn't grown up near the ocean like Cormack had, so she didn't miss it the way her lover did. It made her feel a little guilty, knowing Cormack was missing out on something she would so enjoy.

The gray clouds overhead chose that moment to drop the moisture they held, and the rain began to patter down gently. Fraser took a moment to stand in the drizzle, her eyes closed and face turned up to the sky, soaking in every sensation on behalf of her lover who was stuck on _Enterprise_. _This is for you, sweetie,_ she thought, imagining Stephanie by her side. She stood there for over a minute until the chill began to seep into her skin. Shaking the moisture from her auburn hair, she slipped into the shuttlepod and closed the hatch.

Aboard _Enterprise_, Stephanie smiled in her sleep and dreamed of rain on the beach at English Bay.

Cutler sealed two pale gray arachnids inside a specimen container, and then turned to Cohn. "That's it." She stowed the jar carefully with the others in the refrigerated case. Sealing it up securely, she set it next to the case they'd filled earlier, which rested at the base of a small tree.

He checked the datapad he held. "You're right," he confirmed. "That's everything on the list and a couple of bonus bugs." Cohn tucked the datapad into a deep pocket in one of his pant legs. Then, using one gloved hand, he angled the strap on his backpack so he could reach the tube there with his mouth. The tube connected to a hydration bladder situated inside his pack, between his shoulder blades. He took a long drink and then grimaced. "Warm."

"Better that than frozen," Cutler replied, amused.

He nodded. "I know, but I keep thinking there must be a happy medium."

"If you find one, let me know." She checked the time. "We still have most of an hour before the others are due back."

"Do you want to see if they're ready to come get us?"

Cutler looked around. The sky was a clear blue and there wasn't another sentient soul in sight. "Absolutely not."

Cohn grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that." He took a deep breath and sighed it out in a chilly puff. "You know, I don't think it's as cold as it was when we got here."

"I think you're right. This will sound strange, but it doesn't feel like my nose hairs are freezing anymore."

This time Ari laughed. "I was thinking the same thing," he admitted. "Are you hungry?"

"No, but we should probably eat, huh?"

"Yeah. It takes a lot of energy to keep warm in this sort of environment." Ari took one more swallow of water before removing his backpack. He set it down next to the two containers of chilly specimens, knelt awkwardly on his snowshoes, and rummaged in the pack for food.

While Ari dug out a snack for them, Liz moved a few steps away so he couldn't see her without turning around. Feeling playful from the combination of fresh air and sunshine, she bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, compacting it between her gloved hands. Just as Ari rose and turned to face her, she lobbed the snowball at him. It hit him squarely in the chest.

Liz laughed at his startled expression, and then quickly made another snowball and threw it at him. With energy bars in each hand, Ari had no defense but to dive out of the way, which he did just in time for the snowball to go sailing over him and smack into the stunted tree.

Continuing to laugh, Liz reached down to him and took one of the bars. Then she offered him a hand up. Ari took it and regained his footing. He brushed snow from his clothes with his empty hand. "Your aim is entirely too good," he said with good humor.

"Women's varsity baseball," she offered in explanation. "Left field."

"I never knew that."

"This is the first chance I've had to use it since we left Earth." She grinned and tucked her energy bar into a pocket. "Watch." Scooping up yet another handful of snow, she packed it carefully to roughly the size of a baseball. Looking into the widely scattered trees, she picked one far enough away to make her point. She was about to throw her snowball, but paused to remove her backpack first. Comfortably divested of the extra weight, she took aim again and threw. The snowball impacted the tree with a satisfying _whomp_.

Unfortunately, she'd unknowingly chosen a tree with an inhabitant, and that inhabitant wasn't pleased at being so abruptly awakened. All they saw was teeth and claws in a ball of gray fur as the animal leaped from a hollow in the tree and dashed toward them over the snow, snarling furiously.

"Run!" shouted Ari, grabbing Liz by the arm and pulling.

It was all the jumpstart the exobiologist needed. They ran, snow kicking up behind them like the wake of a hydroplane. They were out of the small forest and a good way towards the mountain when Liz stumbled and fell. It took Ari several more strides to realize he'd lost her. He turned back for her and pulled her to her feet. She started to run again, but Ari stood his ground, staring intently back along their path.

"It's stopped," he announced. Through the polarized lenses of his goggles, he could just make out the angry animal against the base of a tree at the very edge of the woods. "I think it just wants to be left alone."

"You can't be sure of that," argued Liz.

"No, but why else would it just stay there instead of coming after us?"

"Any number of reasons!" But she cautiously made her way back to stand by Ari's side.

Ari dug in a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. Removing his goggles so they hung around his neck by their cord, he looked through the binoculars at the creature. It continued to sit there, fluffed and hissing like an angry cat. "Hopefully it'll decide we're not a threat and go back to its hollow." He handed Liz the binoculars so she could see for herself.

She peered through them. "I think you might be right. It looks like we're safe here until it goes away."

At that moment, the ground under them gave way and they plummeted into frozen darkness.

Stephanie woke abruptly, jarred into consciousness. She blinked twice. _Gods, I hate those falling dreams,_ she thought. She stretched and rolled over, resettling the blanket over herself before drifting back to sleep.

Liz opened her eyes and blinked several times. All she could see was the rough ground on which she lay and the frozen rock face only centimeters from her face. The arm of her goggles pressed against her temple and she used one hand to pull them down. Something dug into her hip, and she wondered if she'd landed on a rock. Carefully, she pushed herself up, turned, and sat upright. Putting a hand on her sore hip, a brief flash of hysteria caused her to bark out a laugh. She hadn't landed on a rock; she'd landed on the phase-pistol she wore. Every member of the landing party had been issued with one. It was standard procedure. In the panic of the moment, she had forgotten all about it.

She took a deep breath of cold air. There was no sense fretting what was past, so she determined to focus on the present. She had lost one snowshoe, but the other was still with her. She straightened her leg and removed the shoe, wincing as it tugged on her ankle. It felt like a bad sprain, but she thanked her lucky stars it wasn't worse. A cursory check of the rest of her body found no broken bones, but she had a lot of bruises that were going to ache for days. She looked around.

Peering into the dimness around her, she realized she was in a cave. Slightly shiny streaks of ore ran through the rock walls, reflecting the little sunlight that filtered down through the ice roof and the hole through which she and Ari had fallen. "Ari!" she exclaimed as the memory hit her. It took only a moment to spot him, lying in a twisted heap just a meter away. She crawled quickly to him, every millimeter of her body protesting the movement. "Ari? _Ari?_"

Ari shifted minutely and groaned. Liz felt weak with relief to find he was still alive.

It was bitterly cold underground and out of the sunshine. Her breath fogged in front of her as she spoke, and the little cloud seemed to hang in the air for a long time. "Don't try to move," she advised.

"Have to," he protested weakly. "Arm...hurts."

She looked more closely. Nothing about the position in which he lay looked at all right. He'd been fortunate enough to lose both snowshoes so there hadn't been that added torque on his legs when he landed, but that was about the only good luck he'd had. From what she could see, she guessed that he'd collided with the uneven cave wall before landing on the tumble of sharp stones where he now lay. Suddenly her own straight-line plunge struck her as incredibly lucky.

His left arm was bent beneath him at a curious angle. _That's broken,_ she thought, as she looked him up and down. _I hope that's all that's broken._ "Okay. Let me help." She pushed several impeding rocks away from him so there was room to move. Then she cautiously helped him roll onto his back, gingerly shifting his arm so it didn't take the weight of the movement. Ari bit back a curse at the stab of pain the movement caused. "Sorry! Sorry."

"Not...your fault," he tried to assure her. He spoke through tightly clenched teeth. "It's broken."

"I know." Even if she hadn't seen it first, she could feel it through the fabric of his sleeve.

"You have to set it," Ari ground out. He didn't need a medical scanner to know that neither bone in his forearm was where it was supposed to be. He considered it with as much analytical detachment as he could manage. "At least there's plenty of ice to keep the swelling down," he said in a weak attempt at distracting humor.

"Here." Liz took off a glove and placed it in his mouth. "Bite on that."

Ari bit down and braced himself, but it wasn't enough to stop him crying out as Liz set the bones in his arm.

Liz gingerly removed her glove from his mouth and put it back on her cold hand. "I'm so sorry." She looked around for something that might serve as a splint. Her discarded snowshoe was too damaged to be of use. Beyond that, all her searching eyes found was stone and ice. "I'm sorry. I don't see anything..."

"Datapad…in my pocket. It's not much…"

Liz quickly found the pad. It wasn't nearly long enough to do as proper splint, but it was better than nothing at all. She set it to one side and carefully removed Ari's goggles from around his neck. "I can't think what else to tie it with," she explained, pulling the cord from them. She repeated the process with her own so that she had two cords with which to secure the pad to his arm.

"Just…do what you have to do." He didn't tell her that the broken arm was only one of his injuries. His head throbbed so much it hurt just to keep his eyes open. There was no way to be certain without proper diagnostic equipment, but he was pretty sure he'd broken a rib or two. He couldn't breathe without it hurting like a knife in his chest.

Once Liz finished securing the makeshift splint, Ari took as deep a breath as he could manage, trying to calm his racing heart. Not wanting her to inquire about any other injuries, he asked, "How long have we...?"

Liz shook her head. "I don't know. Not long, I think." She groped awkwardly in her sleeve pocket for her communicator. _Let it work,_ she prayed silently. She flipped it open and was relieved to hear it chirrup as a comm line opened. "Cutler to _Enterprise_. Medical emergency."

There was a pause long enough to set her stomach churning.

She tried again, punching each word and enunciating as clearly as she could through her chattering teeth. "Enterprise, Cutler. Medical emergency. Request immediate assistance."

Silence met her plea.

"Maybe they're out of range," she said, knowing as soon as she did that the idea was ridiculous. _Where else would they be?_ she reminded herself. "They'll have to come looking for us soon. When we don't show up or report in, Phlox and the others will notify the ship, and they'll send out search parties."

"Where are they going to look?" asked Ari. He felt uncharacteristically pessimistic. _May have something to do with the fact that I'm going to die here on this frozen rock,_ he thought. He coughed and winced at the pain it caused.

Liz helped him to sit up and lean against the cave wall as she spoke. "They'll find our gear and the track that leads from it to where we fell through the ice." She paused and looked upward at the small hole nearly twelve meters above them. "I just hope they don't fall through, too," she added, thinking out loud. "Or bring the roof down on us."

On the bridge of _Enterprise_, T'Pol listened intently to Fraser's report. The transmission was staticky and she had some trouble making out everything the ensign said.

"We've been unable to contact the rest of the landing party. They didn't check in at the half hour, and they aren't at the landing site."

"Initiate a standard search pattern," T'Pol replied. "We'll try to contact them from here."

"Yes, ma'am. Shuttlepod One out."

T'Pol looked at Sato. The comm officer was already tying to hail Cutler and Cohn.

"No response on standard frequencies," Sato said in answer to T'Pol's look. "Switching to emergency."

Reed looked up from the sensors at tactical. "There's a heavy concentration of an unusual magnetic ore in the rock surrounding their proposed excursion site. It may be what's affecting communications."

T'Pol nodded in acknowledgment and took her usual station. "I'll attempt to adjust sensors to compensate," she said. Then she added to Sato, "Continue hailing."

"Do you hear something?" Liz asked. There was a strange hum in the air, but distorted as it was by the cave they were in she couldn't quite identify it.

"Sounds like a shuttlepod," said Ari raggedly. He looked up, but didn't move from where he sat. His throat was dry and he coughed, causing spasms of pain to shoot through his chest. He raised his uninjured arm and wiped his mouth. His glove came away bloody.

Liz was too preoccupied to notice. She immediately opened her communicator. "Cutler to Shuttlepod One!" There was a crackle of static, but no reply. "Bonnie, do you read me?"

Nothing.

"They can't hear you." Ari's chest shook with each breath, and he could hear the quiet gurgling of blood gradually filling up one of his lungs.

"Shuttlepod One, come in!" Liz continued to hail them frantically. "Please, come in!" The near panic was clear in her voice.

"Liz, stop. They're gone. Listen."

He was right. The hum of the engines no longer reverberated against the cavern walls.

"They'll come back," Liz said, trying to believe it. "They won't stop looking until they find us."

Archer would have paced if he'd had the energy. Instead, he lay limply on his bunk with Porthos by his side. Med-tech Northfield—sporting a filter mask usually reserved for mildly toxic atmospheres—had been in to check on him earlier. The medicine she'd provided reduced his fever and dulled the aches and pains throughout his body, but he was still exhausted and grumpy.

He'd contacted the bridge a short time ago, hoping to learn something interesting about the current away mission. Now he wished he could take it back. He'd learned the "interesting" news that two of his ensigns were missing, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He coughed, and his throat burned in reaction. He moaned and rolled over onto his side to find Porthos staring at him sadly. The dog gave a pathetic whine.

Archer's lips quirked in a mirthless smile. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

The glare of the sun on the snow dazzled Fraser's eyes. She found herself squinting against its brightness even through the protective pod windows. "Can one you of you guys hand me a pair of shades?"

It was Doyle who brought them to her and then returned to his seat at the sensor station. "I'm not picking up their life-signs or any open comm frequencies," he said

"Continuing standard search pattern," Fraser replied, although she had her doubts about them finding the missing ensigns that way. But it was a starting point, and they had to start somewhere.

Ian stood on the back porch of his family's ranch house. He stared out over a wide expanse of open prairie drenched in summer sunshine. Someone rested a hand on his shoulder, and he turned.

"Dad?"

"Cody. I never expected to see you here again."

Ian sighed. "I asked you not to call me that."

"It's your name, son," his father said.

"Maybe on paper, but I told you when I was seven that I was going by my middle name from then on. What makes you think I'd change my mind?"

To Ian's surprise, his father smiled. "You're right. I should know better than to argue with you. You've got too much of your mother in you for me to ever win an argument with you."

It was then Ian noticed his mother. She sat at the small table at the far end of the porch. It was her usual fair-weather spot for doing the books, which was what she appeared to be doing now.

"You still haven't told me why you're here," his father went on.

"I could ask you the same thing, but it's my dream so I won't bother. Neither of us is really here."

"If you say so."

While they stood there in silence, a dark speck appeared on the horizon and began moving towards them.

"Friend of yours?"

Ian squinted against the sun that backlit the distant figure. "Can't tell."

They continued to stand there, watching as the person approached and gradually became clear.

Smiling, Ian waved and called out, "Ari! Hey, buddy! What's up?"

Ari reached them and smiled back. "Not a lot. I just felt like hanging out for a while." He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. "Cold."

"Are you nuts? It's got to be twenty degrees out here. It's gorgeous. Haven't seen a day like this since we left Earth."

"You didn't have to go so far, son," his father spoke up.

Ian looked annoyed, but Ari smiled again. "You must be Mr. Young." He held out a hand, which the elder man shook. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All bad, no doubt."

"What do you expect?" snapped Ian. "I was always a disappointment to you. You couldn't expect me not to feel the same about you."

"Now isn't the time for that," his father scolded. "Now's the time to talk to your friend here. He can't stay, so you'd best make good use of the time."

"Huh?" grunted Ian, confused.

"He's right," Ari confirmed. "I can't stay. I have a couple more stops to make. I just wanted to see you first to say good-bye."

"Good-bye? What are you talking about?"

Ari shivered again and shook his head self-deprecatingly. "I can't imagine why I left my coat behind. That wasn't one of my smartest moves."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ian repeated more insistently.

But Ari didn't answer him. Instead he looked at Ian's father. "I expect I'll see you again soon."

"I look forward to getting to know you. My son thinks very highly of you."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

Ian woke abruptly. His head still ached, but it wasn't the nauseating throb of earlier. "That was just weird," he muttered. Too disturbed to sleep any more, he rose and turned the cabin lights on to one-quarter power. His eye caught the blinking message light, and he crossed to the computer and sat down.

"Computer, open message."

It was a text message from Ari.

_Hey, Ian,_ it read. _I'm headed down to the planet for some specimen gathering, so I won't be around for lunch like we planned. How about we make it dinner instead? And before you make some crack about me having a date with Mae, I don't tonight, so we're cool. Right? See you at 1900 hours._

Ari

For no reason Ian could think of, the note struck him as oddly sinister. _Must be that freaky dream,_ he thought. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong—something to do with his bunkmate. He nearly hailed the bridge to find out the status of the mission Ari was on, but he doubted anyone there would share the information with him. He didn't hold much credibility at the moment.

_Maybe I should go see Doctor Douglas._ The thought was a fleeting one. Although his limited experience with Douglas had been okay, he'd never liked shrinks and balked at going to see one voluntarily.

_Damn it!_ He'd only ever felt comfortable talking to three people on board. Ari was the first. The next was Hoshi, but she was out of the question for a number of reasons. The only other person he might be able to talk to was Cormack. They certainly weren't close, but they did have some rather significant things in common. He was sure she would at least listen to him, and there was an outside chance she might even believe him when he said he thought there was something wrong with Ari.

As quickly as he could, he washed up. Then he changed his pajamas for a clean uniform—the first time he'd worn the blue coveralls in quite some time—and left the cabin.

"Ari? Ari, wake up!" Liz's tone was sharp.

"Tired," he protested weakly.

"I know you're tired, but I need you to stay awake." She patted his cheek with her hand, trying to rouse him without hurting him. Her efforts had mixed results. Ari winced, and his eyes fluttered open. "Sorry," said Liz. "You've got to try to stay awake. You're in shock and you have a concussion."

"You find a...medical scanner...somewhere?" he joked lamely.

"I don't need one to know your pupils aren't reacting properly, or to see the huge bump on your head." In fact it was more than a bump. She could see where blood had coagulated and matted the hair behind his right ear. She just didn't think it would be helpful to tell him that. "Here." She dug into her coat pocket for the energy bar he'd given her earlier. "You need to eat something to keep up your strength until we get out of here," she went on as she unwrapped the bar clumsily. Even through the insulated gloves, her fingers were chilled. Liz had experimented with trying to heat some stones with her phase-pistol, but she'd had minimal success. A shot on the kill setting exploded the first stone, scattering gravel like shrapnel. While a long burst on the stun setting warmed the rocks, the warmth never lasted long enough to take the chill out of the air. The power cell in her own weapon was already nearly depleted from trying; she saw no point in emptying it in a useless cause. "You eat some of this, and then I'll see if I can climb out of here."

"What about your ankle?"

She shrugged. "Would you rather try?"

His mind was fuzzy with the cold, but he thought seriously before responding. "No."

Liz broke off a bite-sized portion of the energy bar and offered it to Ari.

"No," he repeated.

"No?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to be hungry. You just have to eat. You said yourself that it takes energy to keep warm."

He closed his eyes again, and shook his head minutely. "Thirsty."

"Yeah, well..." Liz looked at the ice that surrounded them. There were plenty of smallish chunks scattered around, dislodged by their fall. "Let me see what I can do." Without rising from his side, she searched the nearby ground for pieces small enough to suck on. She found several and picked them up, brushing dirt from one. "Here." She turned back to Ari with it. "Open up."

Ari didn't move.

"Ari? Come on. Don't do this. Wake up." Her voice grew more panicked when he still didn't respond. "Ari, wake up!" She dropped the ice chips and pulled off her gloves. With cold, shaking fingers she felt his neck for a pulse. "Come on, come on. It has to be there. It has to be there!"

Stephanie shivered and pulled the covers more tightly around her. A dream about skiing naked in Siberia had woken her, and the residual chill of the dream still clung to her. She shivered again. "This is stupid," she muttered. Now that she was awake, she knew there would be no sleeping again until she warmed up.

She sat up, reached across the small cabin, and grasped Liz's blanket. Pulling it from the other bunk, she draped it over her own and snuggled in again. When several minutes passed and the chill didn't go away, she began to wonder if it was more than just her subconscious messing with her.

She rose and crossed to the comm panel, finding it by habit and the dim light reflecting off the sliver of planet visible outside the window. "Cormack to Engineering."

Crewman Kelly answered her hail. "Engineering. What can I do for you, Ensign?"

"Is there a problem with environmental controls on E-deck, crew quarters?"

"Just a moment." There was a pause. "No, ma'am. Internal sensors show everything is normal."

"Thanks." Stephanie closed the line. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering if she'd somehow come down with something and was running a fever. "That never works," she said to herself, lowering the hand again. She could never tell if her forehead was hot or if her hand was just cold. _I'm up now,_ she thought. _I should go to sickbay and find out what's wrong. _ But she didn't move. The last place on the ship she ever wanted to go was sickbay. So she hesitated, hoping another possibility would suggest itself.

The door chimed, startling her. _That's unexpected but fortuitous._ She glanced at the chronometer and wondered who could be standing on her doorstep in the middle of Alpha-shift.

"Hang on," she muttered, not really intending the unknown visitor to hear her. Raising the cabin lights to half, she opened the door. She was surprised to see Ian standing there, an oddly haunted look in his pale eyes. "Ian? What are you doing here?" she asked, all tact lost from lack of sleep.

"Can I come in?" he asked without preamble.

She frowned in puzzlement, but moved aside so he could enter the room. "What's up?"

He paced the narrow strip of floor between the bunks. On the way to her cabin he'd tried to think where to begin the conversation. He still had no idea, so he plunged in at random. "You ever have dreams you think are real?"

"Huh?"

"Okay, not so much real, but like they could be real?"

"What do you mean?" Stephanie sat on the end of Liz's bunk and watched him pace.

Ian felt like an idiot and already regretted having come there. He took a moment to settle his rattling nerves, reminding himself that of all the people currently on board, Cormack was the only one he had any faith would believe him. "Like they're…trying to tell you something. Something bad."

Stephanie's face went very still. "Why do you want to know that?"

Ian stopped in his tracks and stared at her. His gamble had paid off. "You have."

"Once or twice," she hedged. "Why?"

"Something's wrong down on the planet. Something with Ari."

"You dreamed it?"

"Sort of."

"Tell me."

Ian quickly summarized his dream, leaving out the little things he didn't want to share and that didn't seem directly relevant to the situation.

Once he'd finished, Stephanie asked, "Have you ever had a dream like that before?"

"No."

"That's a plus." She pulled the blankets tighter around herself. "Is it cold in here, or is it just me?"

"It's just you."

"Damn." She definitely needed to go to sickbay, but it would have to wait. "We need to find out what's going on."

"How?"

"We ask."

"No way!"

"What else do you suggest?" argued Stephanie. "If you have another idea, I'm happy to hear it."

"I don't want anyone else knowing about that dream," Ian insisted.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about it, but I'm not going to ignore it either." She paused and then tried to explain. "If it was just you, I'd figure it was only a dream. But I've been having some really vivid dreams this morning, too, and now I'm freezing in a room that's the same temperature it always is. Now what does that tell you?"

"Maybe you're sick."

"Maybe. Or maybe Liz and Ari are freezing to death."

Ian glared at her as he digested this new information. "You said you've had dreams like mine."

She fixed him with a cold, even stare. "Yeah. And one of those times, my dad died."

After another tense silence, he relented. "All right. But I still think you're just sick."

"I hope you're right. I'll find out after we talk to the Captain." Stephanie stood and once more crossed to the comm panel. "Cormack to Bridge, please respond."

To her surprise, it was T'Pol who replied. "What is it, Ensign?"

"This may sound odd, Sub-commander, but has something happened to the landing party?"

There was sudden silence on the other end of the line. It was brief but telling. She didn't need to hear an answer to know she was right. "They need to get back to the ship as soon as possible."

To her credit, T'Pol didn't ask how she knew it. "We're working on that now, but so far we've been unable to locate Ensigns Cutler and Cohn."

Stephanie and Ian exchanged a look at this new bit of information. "I think someone might have an idea about that," Stephanie said. "Is the Captain there?"

"Captain Archer is ill and confined to his quarters. What do you need, Ensign?" T'Pol answered evenly.

Stephanie winced a little at her tone. She found it hard to believe the Vulcan woman wasn't offended by her query. "Request permission for Ensign Young and me to join you in the Situation Room."

"As soon as possible," agreed T'Pol, and closed the comm.

Ian immediately protested. "I'm not doing this."

"You want to find Ari?" Stephanie countered.

"That's a stupid question."

"Then stop whining and deal."

Ari looked around, mildly surprised to find himself standing on the upper level of _Enterprise_'s engine room. _I must be dreaming again, _ he thought. _It's so warm here. Much warmer than Ian's family's ranch._

He walked down the stairs to the main level. No one so much as glanced at him, which simply strengthened his belief that it was all a dream. He walked up beside the main reactor and placed a hand on its surface. _Warm._ He smiled.

"Ari?"

It was Mae.

"What are you doing here?" She looked at him, perplexed but not displeased.

"Mae," he said, cherishing her name. "I'll miss you."

"You'll...what?" Now she frowned. "Where am I going?"

He chuckled. "You can always make me laugh."

"Great, but what do you mean—?"

"I love the way you make me feel," he went on, saying things in his dream that he'd been too afraid to say in reality. "I love _you_. Good-bye."

Mae was dumbfounded. "You—? Good—?" Mae closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to get a handle on what was going on. When she opened them again, Ari had disappeared. "What the hell?" She looked around, caught crewman Kumata's eye. "Did you see where Ensign Cohn went?" she asked him. The man shook his head.

The main door opened at that moment and Lieutenant Hess entered. Mae approached her. "Lieutenant, did you see Ensign Cohn just now?"

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't he just pass you in the corridor?"

Hess looked at her in puzzlement. "No."

"But he must have. Where else would he have gone?"

"I can't help you, Ensign. I didn't see him."

Mae turned to Kumata who still stood nearby—although his stance clearly indicated he wished to be anywhere else. "You saw him, right?"

Kumata shook his head again. "Sorry, ma'am, but I didn't see anyone."

"How could you miss him? He was _just here_. I talked to him. He didn't make a lot of sense, but we _talked_."

"Are you feeling okay, Ensign?" Hess asked solicitously. "You could be coming down with the same bug that got Captain Archer."

Mae was stymied. "Maybe…"

"Why don't you take a break? You've been working hard…"

"I'm not crazy, and I don't think I'm sick. But I will take a break. Maybe get a cup of coffee or something. I'll be right back."

"Take your time," Hess said. "And stop by sickbay just to be sure." It was more an order than a suggestion.

"I will," agreed Mae, as if it were her own idea. She walked purposefully out of Engineering.

Shuttlepod One finished their search of the ten square kilometer area around the original landing site. "Search pattern completed," Fraser informed _Enterprise_. "No sign of Cutler and Cohn." She was surprised to hear Archer reply.

"Keep looking," he ordered, his voice rough from coughing. He was miserably ill, but that hadn't stopped him wrangling updates from his bridge staff. He was determined to command during this crisis, even if he had to do it from his sickbed. "Open the windows and use binoculars if you have to."

"Yes, sir."

Fraser turned to Doyle at the sensor station. "Break out the binoculars." As he went to get them, she looked forward again and went on. "I suggest one of you take port and the other starboard. I'll monitor the sensors—for all the good it'll do, what with all the magnetic crap I'm picking up—and keep my eyes peeled up front." She began another search pattern, this time from an altitude so low they barely needed the binoculars at all.

T'Pol, Cormack, and Young stood around the large table in the Situation Room. Cormack had traded her pajamas for the warmest clothes in her locker, and she still retained the two blankets wrapped around her. The layers didn't stop her shivering. T'Pol looked at her inquisitively.

"I'm headed to sickbay after this, I swear," Cormack said.

"See that you are," T'Pol replied, and then turned to the matter at hand. "You say you have an idea on how to find Ensigns Cutler and Cohn."

"I don't, but Ensign Young does."

The Sub-commander turned to him. "Ensign?"

"I don't know where they are," he protested.

"What do you know?"

"He knows that Ensign Cohn is hurt," offered Cormack.

Young glared at her angrily. "I don't _know_ know." At T'Pol's pointed look, he added, "But I believe it, ma'am."

"Why?" T'Pol asked.

"I…had a…vision." He barely managed to stop himself from saying "dream". Somehow he felt that a vision might carry more weight than a mere dream, as melodramatic as it sounded even to his own ears. When T'Pol said nothing, he went on. "Ari was there. He said he was cold, even though in the d—vision it was the middle of summer. Then he said he wanted to say good-bye. And…my father said he looked forward to getting to know him. Ma'am…" He looked at her intently. "…my father's been dead for over fifteen years."

T'Pol took this information in with her usual impassivity. "I see. Do you believe you may be able to contact Ensign Cohn again?"

"I… Maybe, but I don't know how. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

The Sub-commander was silent for a moment, an inscrutable expression on her face as she thought. "I have an idea."

"This is pointless," said Young for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"That's not an attitude that will help us," T'Pol replied.

The pair sat opposite one another on the floor of the Sub-commander's quarters. A small altar stood between them, atop which was a single lit pillar candle.

"Calm your thoughts. Concentrate on the flame," she said. "Focus your eyes on it, and allow your mind to follow."

Young stared for several seconds before letting out a frustrated sigh nearly heavy enough to blow out the flame. "This won't work. I'm not psychic. We're just wasting time!"

"You're correct. You are wasting time. If you wish to accomplish anything, you must focus."

Young glared, but said nothing. In his heart he knew this might be the only chance Ari and Liz had, but his brain kept protesting that staring at a candle while his best friend was probably dying was just plain stupid. "Cormack should be doing this. Not me. She's the one who has dreams that come true."

T'Pol was surprised. This wasn't something she'd heard of before. In the here and now, however, it was irrelevant. "The vision of Ensign Cohn is yours. Now, focus on the flame." She was done explaining and would tolerate no more delays.

Young once more turned his gaze to the candle.

"Focus on the point at the very center of the flame," T'Pol instructed. "Let go of your preconceptions and inhibitions. Relax."

It was as if something clicked inside Young's head. He felt suddenly relaxed and alert at once. The room around him receded and his vision tunneled so that he saw neither T'Pol on the other side of the altar, nor the altar itself. The world of his perceptions narrowed to include only the flame, and then narrowed further to its dark center. He knew T'Pol was speaking, but her words became nothing more than a gentle drone, and then nothing.

The world expanded again slowly. The darkness opened up to reveal a cave, dimly lit and so cold it made his bones ache. He saw it all in an instant—the stone walls with their threads of ore; the ice roof with the hole no bigger than a meter or two across; Ari's too-still form seated on the ground; Liz standing awkwardly on one foot, trying to find handholds in the frozen rock. It looked like she was crying.

Young started violently and looked around, disconcerted to find himself back in T'Pol's quarters.

"What is it?" she asked immediately.

"Ari's dying."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah. I think so. They're in a cave underground."

T'Pol blew out the candle and rose smoothly to her feet. Young stood quickly and followed her into the corridor.

"That would explain why our sensors have been unable to pinpoint them," she said. "The rock of that cave likely contains high concentrations of magnetic ore. Do you know where the cave is?"

Young had begun to feel hopeful, but now his heart sank. "No. Not a damn clue…ma'am."

"Never mind." They reached the turbolift and rode it to the bridge. Almost before the door opened, T'Pol spoke to Sato. "Hail Shuttlepod One."

It felt like they'd been searching for days.

"Can you see anything?" Doyle asked in frustration. He peered out the starboard hatch's port, binoculars pressed against the transparent aluminum.

Phlox was similarly engaged on the opposite side of the pod. "No."

"T'Pol to Shuttlepod One." The voice through the comm startled them all.

"Go ahead, Sub-commander," Fraser replied.

"Alter your course to one-five-nine mark eight."

Fraser complied, but said, "That will take us back to the rendezvous point."

"That's correct. I believe the ensigns are within no more than a kilometer of where you expected them to be."

Fraser was still doubtful. "We've searched that area twice."

"And you'll search it again. This time look for their gear rather than them."

The comm closed abruptly.

"I think I pissed her off," muttered Fraser to no one in particular. Moments later she said, "We're over the site now. Anything?"

"I've got something!" Doyle exclaimed almost instantly. "To starboard."

"Hang on." She veered sharply to starboard. "Where?"

He joined her at the bow and pointed to what at first looked like a lump of rocks at the base of a tree. "There's their equipment."

Phlox joined them and raised his binoculars. "You're quite right. And look. There's a trail leading away from it." The disturbance in the snow was practically invisible. Only the angle of the pod combined with the angle of the sun had made it clear.

"I see it, but…" Fraser banked slightly port, following the path in the snow. "It just…stops. Oh this is so not good." She immediately hailed _Enterprise_. "We've found something. A trail in the snow leading away from the excursion site. But it stops in the middle of nowhere. I think there's a good chance they've fallen through a fissure in the ice." Growing up in Inuvik she'd heard of similar incidents—even among more experience glacier hikers, which Cohn and Cutler weren't. _Why the hell did they leave their designated research area?_ she wondered worriedly. _And without their gear?_

T'Pol spoke up quickly. "I agree with your assessment, Ensign. Detailed scans indicate the area is riddled with sinkholes. Hold your position and stand by for further orders. Under no circumstances are you to land the pod."

"Understood," Fraser replied and closed the comm. "Not even if you ordered me to," she added to herself.

Aboard _Enterprise_, T'Pol looked across the bridge to Commander Tucker, who sat at the science station. "Are you having any more success with the sensor modifications?"

"Some," he answered. "But I'm not making any promises. We're lucky you and Hoshi got the comms cleaned up the little you did. I've never seen magnetic interference patterns like this before. Screening them out of the sensors is gonna be tricky."

She joined him and the two worked together in silence. Suddenly, Tucker exclaimed, "I got 'em. Two life-signs. Both faint and intermittent."

"You and Lieutenant Reed get to the transporter chamber," T'Pol ordered. "I'll continue trying to refine the sensor data."

Reed and Tucker were at the turbolift before she had finished speaking.

"Ma'am!" It was Young. He had been watching the action from the back of the bridge, waiting for an opportunity to help. "Request permission—"

"Go," T'Pol said.

He needed no further urging. He joined Reed and Tucker in the lift, and the three were whisked away.

Several tense, silent moments passed. The comm chirped, the sound ominous and urgent.

"T'Pol, you having any luck with that data?" came Tucker's query.

"I'm unable to refine the sensors further."

"Damn! That magnetic ore is playing holy hell with the transporter systems. We can't get a lock. We're not gonna get them out this way."

"Then we'll have to try something else," T'Pol replied. "Lieutenant Reed?"

"Go ahead," answered Reed.

"Who among your team has alpine rescue training?"

At the sound of the sickbay door opening, Lawless and Northfield looked over to see who had arrived.

"Ensign Cormack," the med-tech said, "what's the trouble?"

"I'm freezing," Cormack answered, taking a seat on an unoccupied biobed and pulling her blankets close. "I think I'm sick."

"Any other symptoms?"

"Nope."

Northfield began her examination as Cormack looked over at Lawless. "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently I'm here going nuts," her friend answered. "Turns out I'm not sick, so I must be seeing things."

"What are you talking about?"

Lawless gave her a brief run-down of the bizarre conversation she'd had with Ari in Engineering. When she'd finished, Cormack just stared at her.

"What?" demanded Lawless after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Ari's not on board."

"What?"

"Mae, he's still down on the planet…somewhere."

Northfield interrupted. "I'm not reading anything unusual. Let's move you to the diagnostic table and see what we can find out."

"Oo, my favorite thing," Cormack replied so dryly the words almost crackled. But she acquiesced and allowed herself to be rolled into the medical scanner. When she emerged moments later, Lawless picked up their conversation as if there had been no pause at all.

"What do you mean by 'somewhere'?"

"He and Liz are missing." Cormack went on to explain the situation. Lawless's face grew paler with each new revelation.

"God damn!" she exclaimed finally. "And no one bothered to come tell me this?"

"I guess everyone's so caught up trying to find them that no one thought of it." Cormack's eyes widened in sudden realization. "I bet Travis doesn't know, either."

"You're fine," Northfield announced, once more breaking into their conversation.

"What do you mean?" demanded Cormack. "I'm freezing! I must have a fever or something."

"The Captain has the flu," Lawless commented.

"What?"

"You're fine," repeated Northfield. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Except the fact that I'm so cold I want to curl up in a little ball wrapped around a flaming log."

"I don't know what to tell you, Ensign." Northfield looked apologetic and yet adamant. "Perhaps when Doctor Phlox returns he'll be able to tell you more, but for now I can only suggest you bundle up."

Cormack gave her one of her most annoyed looks. "Like I'm not already," she snarked.

"Enough!" exclaimed Lawless. "You're cold. Grab another blanket. Meanwhile Ari's who-knows-where and probably freezing to death!"

Cormack shoved aside her own petty frustrations. "You're right. He and Liz both. And there's nothing we can do about it."

Reed had a rescue plan formulated before he even determined who would accompany him on it. He quickly ran the plan past T'Pol and Tucker, both of whom supported it. _Probably more because they can't come up with a better one than because it's a wise plan,_ he thought. It didn't matter. It was the only plan they had.

Tucker was already engaged in making the necessary modifications to Shuttlepod Two. Now all Reed had to do was assemble his team. He sat at his station on the bridge and called up the profiles of the armory crew, sorted by alpine rescue experience. He was momentarily taken aback to see that the first name that came up was Ensign Young. Young had volunteered for the mission the moment he heard T'Pol's order, but Reed wanted to examine his options before including someone whom the Captain still hadn't cleared for duty. Reviewing his file now, Reed saw that Young did indeed have the greatest level of alpine training of all his staff—just as he'd claimed only minutes ago.

_To hell with it, _ Reed said to himself and marked Young for the mission. At that moment, skill was more important than regulations. Lives were at stake.

Next on the list was Cormack. While not as experienced as Young, her training was extensive. She would likely need to be woken, having come off Gamma-shift that morning. But did he want someone who wasn't necessarily one-hundred percent alert? Before making a decision, he queried the computer for her location. He was surprised to see she wasn't in her quarters, but in sickbay. He frowned, concerned. He knew she hated sickbay. If she was there, it had to be for a good reason. That decided him. If there was even a possibility she wasn't feeling well, he didn't want her out there risking her life and others'.

_Whom do I have left?_ The answer was immediately apparent: crewman Griffith. _Right. Now I just need Mayweather._

Liz's attempt to climb out of the cave had been met with failure. Even fully healthy, she doubted she could have made it out without proper climbing gear. She silently cursed herself for the snowball that had landed them in this situation. _If I hadn't been showing off, none of this would ever have happened._

Since then, she had put her energy into keeping Ari alive. She sat next to him and held the unconscious man to her for warmth. She talked constantly to him, hoping he would hear her words and hang on until help arrived. Her voice was rough with stress and cold. "You hear the shuttlepod up there? They're coming to get us out." In fact she believed she was imagining the sound of the pod above them, but she clung to her dream as the only possible reality. If it wasn't true, she and Ari would soon be dead.

"They'll be here any minute. They'll take us back to _Enterprise_ where it's warm and safe. You know what I'm looking forward to the most? Hot chocolate." She began to paint the scene with her words. "I'm going to have a big mug of hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream so tall it almost falls over. But I manage to catch it before it does, and I slurp it down. And then I sip the chocolate that gets richer and richer as the whipped cream melts into it. Doesn't that sound good? Hmm?" She looked at Ari's pale face, and gently wiped a smudge of grit from his cold, slack cheek. "Hang on, Ari." Her voice carried a quiet urgency that contrasted starkly against the soothing, almost lyrical tone she had used up to now. "We're so close. Just hang on."

Reed, Young, Griffith, and Mayweather, all dressed in winter gear, settled themselves and their equipment into Shuttlepod Two. Reed was the last inside, sealing the hatch as he spoke. "You have the coordinates?"

"Yes, sir," Mayweather replied, taking his seat at the pod's helm. His voice betrayed none of the tension in his gut. He had taken the news about the current situation with outward calm. No one knew that inside his heart raced with worry.

T'Pol's voice came through the comm. "Launch when ready."

Mayweather glanced at his passengers. They were ready enough. "Launching now." The bay doors opened and he guided the pod out.

Reed finished briefing his team on the situation. "Fraser has located the sinkhole where we believe the missing ensigns are. We can't land, and there's no guarantee that even if we were to hike into the spot we wouldn't end up in the same situation. The area is only going to get more unstable as the day warms, and waiting for it to freeze again is not an option."

"How do we get them out, then?" Griffith asked, beating Young to the question.

"We're going to try something rather tricky."

As the Lieutenant went on to explain the plan, Young decided "rather tricky" was one hell of an understatement.

"Coming up on Shuttlepod One," Mayweather announced.

Reed looked at his team. "Prepare to move out."

Mayweather opened a line to the other pod. "Shuttlepod One, you're clear to return to _Enterprise_."

"Understood," answered Fraser. "Good luck." Her mind was crowded with all sorts of things she wanted to say, but she kept them to herself. She had to have faith that Lieutenant Reed and his team knew what they were doing. _There's nothing more you can do here, _ she told herself firmly. _Just get Phlox to the ship so he can be ready when they bring back Liz and Ari._ She banked the little pod to starboard and pointed its nose toward space.

The four men in Shuttlepod Two didn't watch its departure. Reed took the co-pilot's seat and Griffith sat at the sensor station while Mayweather carefully maneuvered the pod into position above the sinkhole. Left alone in the back, Young gave their gear one final check.

"Thanks for trying."

Young looked up, startled. There, sitting directly across from him, was his best friend and bunkmate. "Ari?"

"All this." Ari gestured at the pod, the gear. "I appreciate the effort." He smiled a little coyly. "You can be one hell of a prick sometimes, but you've also been one hell of a friend."

"You're not here," said Young firmly.

Reed glanced back at him. "Is there a problem, Ensign?"

Young looked at his C.O. "Sir, it's–" He looked quickly back at Ari, only to find him gone. He paused. It was bad enough he'd had to undergo that candle thing with T'Pol. He didn't need to compound the weirdness by telling the Lieutenant what he'd just seen. _He'll think I've finally gone off the deep end._ "No, sir. No problem."

"Then get hooked up. We're in position." Reed rose and opened the port hatch. The warm air in the shuttle whooshed out, creating a cloud of fog that soon dispersed in the gusting wind.

Before they'd left _Enterprise_, Commander Tucker had bolted a winch to the pod's deckplating just inside the hatch. Attached to it and currently dangling out the open hatch were climbing ropes. It was a dangerous proposition, rappelling in sub-zero temperatures. Lieutenant Reed's plan was even more treacherous.

Young looked outside and down toward the planet's surface. The pod hovered several meters above the ground, painstakingly aligned with the sinkhole where Cohn and Cutler were trapped. It was Mayweather's job to hold the pod in position while Reed and Young made the rescue. Griffith would man the lines and haul them up once they had the others.

At least that was the plan. Young had his doubts about its potential success, but he was determined to do everything he could to get his friends out of there.

He and Reed locked onto the lines, checking and rechecking the connections.

"Ready?" the Lieutenant asked. Young nodded in mute confirmation. "Let's go."

Phlox, Doyle, and Fraser cleared the bioscans with suspicious swiftness, but knowing the seriousness of the situation no one questioned it. Leaving the others behind, Phlox raced to sickbay. He knew only what T'Pol had told him about Young's vision of the missing ensigns. He had limited time to prepare, and he had to be ready for the worst. He didn't bother even to entertain the thought that Reed's team wouldn't get them out. It was simply an unacceptable scenario.

Before the door had closed behind him, he called out to med-tech Northfield. "Prep a station for emergency surgery!"

"Yes, Doctor." She immediately set to work.

Phlox moved swiftly. He called up Cohn's medical history on the computer, refreshing his memory of any salient points. That complete, he looked up and froze.

Ensign Cohn stood in the middle of sickbay, not two meters away from him.

"Ensign?" Phlox said, knowing it was impossible.

"I just wanted to see you before I leave," Ari said.

Phlox moved toward him, reached out a hand. It passed through the young man. "You're not here."

"No?" He glanced down at himself. "I guess not."

"Ari, listen to me. You need to go back to where you're supposed to be."

"I don't want to." Ari shook his head sharply. "It's cold there, and it's painful. Very painful."

"I understand that, but you have to go back. If you don't, I can't help you. You want my help, don't you?"

Ari paused, and then nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Then go back and wait for Lieutenant Reed. You won't have to wait long."

Ari's voice was small, childlike in his need for reassurance. "Are you sure? It's really bad back there."

"I promise you it won't be long."

"Okay."

Ari vanished and Phlox heaved a sigh. He spoke softly to the air. "Don't make me a liar, Lieutenant."

Ari opened his eyes, but it took several moments for his muddled brain to make sense of anything he saw. "Ian?" he rasped.

Ian looked down at him in surprise and continued to secure him to the metal-framed mesh stretcher that would carry him out of the cave. "Right here, buddy."

"What...?"

"Save it for later, eh?" His tone was short, intent as he was on getting his best friend safely out. Inwardly he grinned and his heart leapt to see Ari awake and reasonably alert. He stood directly below the hole in the ice ceiling and spoke clearly into his communicator. "Young to Pod Two, I'm ready to bring Cohn out."

"Understood," Griffith answered.

Young and Cohn began to rise as their lines slowly winched up.

Reed finished securing Cutler to his own line as she watched the others go, waiting for her turn to be drawn up and into the safety of the shuttlepod.

"I didn't think you'd find us," she said to the Lieutenant, as Ari and Ian disappeared from sight. She looked at Reed who held her upright, supporting her weight to protect her injured ankle. "Sometimes it's really great to be wrong."

Mae sat in the mess hall, a mug of coffee in her hands. Over two hours had passed since Liz and Ari's rescue from their frozen prison, and she'd heard nothing about either of them.

Stephanie sat across the table from her, no longer bundled in her blankets and sweaters. Ever since Reed's team's return to _Enterprise_ she'd no longer felt the bitter, biting cold that had gripped her all day. She only hoped no one else had noticed the correlation. She didn't want to have to explain it; it was disturbing enough coming to terms with it herself. "Can I get you another cup of coffee?" she asked Mae, breaking the heavy silence that surrounded them.

"No, thanks."

The door opened, and they looked up anxiously.

"Travis," called Stephanie, waving him over. "Any word?"

He pulled up a chair and sat down. "Liz was released an hour ago. She's resting now. I came to get her a mug of hot chocolate, so I can't stay long."

"What about Ari?" Mae asked, not entirely sure she was ready for the answer.

"Still in surgery last I heard," Travis answered. "I'm sorry." He rose again and went to get the promised cocoa.

The ensigns in the mess hall were unaware that their concern was echoed by an isolated figure, alone but for a small dog.

"Any word?" Archer asked through the comm. He coughed harshly, and Porthos whined in sympathy.

"Negative," replied T'Pol from the bridge. "I will contact you as soon as I know anything," she reminded him.

"Understood. Archer out." He closed the line and sat on the bed next to Porthos, fondling the dog's ears affectionately.

He was annoyed that no one had consulted him over the rescue plan, but he had to admit—even if he never admitted it out loud—that he could have been of no help in the situation. Even healthy, he wouldn't have felt entirely confident in his own ability to do what Reed and his team had done. He knew it was just the flu making him petulant, but it still rankled.

Jon sighed and laid back on his bunk, pulling the tumbled covers over himself. Porthos barked once at the disruption, and then settled down on the other side of the bed.

"Guess I'd just better get over it," he said to the beagle.

Porthos barked once more and laid his head on his paws.

"That's what I thought you'd say."

Several anxious hours later, Mae stood at Ari's bedside. His face was still terribly pale, but Phlox assured her that he would make a full recovery in time.

"You're welcome to stay," the doctor went on in a quiet voice. "But it will be some time before he wakes from the anesthetic."

"That's okay," Mae said softly. "I'm not going to stay long."

Phlox nodded and left her alone, pulling the curtain around the recovery area as he went.

Mae sat heavily in the single chair. She rested her elbows on her lap and her chin on her balled fists. She'd already cried out her relief. Now she simply watched with reddened eyes the gentle rise and fall of Ari's breathing, aided as it was by tubes and instruments she didn't begin to understand.

"What am I going to do?" she asked the sleeping figure. "Your job's supposed to be safe. You help save lives; you don't risk your own. Now this. I know it wasn't on purpose, but… There's a reason I don't date security personnel, you know? I don't know if I can deal. I have to think. You understand, right?"

Of course, Ari didn't move. Not even an eyelid flickered in response to her words.

Mae rose heavily to her feet. Placing a tender, feather-soft kiss on his cheek, she whispered, "I love you, too." The she turned and left, the curtain falling shut behind her with a soft whisper of fabric.

Bonnie rang the chime to Stephanie's cabin promptly at 2030 hours. The door opened instantly. "Hey," she said, grinning. "Ready for dinner?"

"You call it dinner; I call it breakfast," quipped Stephanie.

"You can call it high tea, second breakfast, or a midnight snack for all I care. I'm just glad we get to eat it together."

They linked arms and headed toward the mess hall. Two days had passed since the rescue of Liz and Ari, and between debriefings and conflicting duty schedules this was the first opportunity they'd had to see one another.

"I hate working opposing schedules," groused Stephanie.

"It's not forever."

"No, just the rest of the month. At least it's a short month."

Bonnie peeked at her out of the corner of her eye. "You're cute when you pout."

Her words made Stephanie smile. "I can't pout when you say things like that," she jokingly protested.

They reached their destination and went inside. There were maybe a dozen other people scattered around at the tables. Most looked like they were finishing meals rather than starting them.

Stephanie didn't hesitate to get herself a double tall latté. Bonnie went for a more sedate glass of iced mint tea. That decided, they headed to the food.

"Oo! Cookies!" exclaimed Bonnie. She picked up one and took a bite. "Mmmm! These are fabulous!"

"You think?" Stephanie felt a surge of pleasure at the praise.

"Did you make them?"

The blonde woman nodded, grinning.

Bonnie kissed her cheek, leaving a smudge of chocolate behind. She laughed and wiped it off with her fingers. "When did you have time?"

"After shift this morning. I set it up with Chef a couple of days ago."

Bonnie finished the cookie and snagged another before loading up a plate with spinach salad and a small steak. Stephanie—true to her Gamma-shift schedule—chose a stack of French toast and a side of bacon.

"You never eat like that when it's actually breakfast time," Bonnie commented.

"I've been up for a while this time. Morning is too early to eat properly."

They proceeded to a table in the farthest corner of the room and sat down.

Bonnie took a sip of tea. "So," she began, "how are you? I've hardly seen you since the new shift rotation started. I miss you."

"I miss you, too." Stephanie looked at her adoringly, and Bonnie blushed.

"Stop that."

"Sorry," replied her lover unapologetically. "Tell me about the mission the other day." She smothered her French toast in butter and powdered sugar, and began to slice it up.

"It started out great. You would have loved the place where I waited for Phlox and Doyle. Ocean beach, salt-smell in the air, drizzling rain. It was exactly your kind of place." Bonnie grinned and Stephanie couldn't help but grin back.

"I can imagine." Then Stephanie's expression grew more serious. "What about the rest of it?"

Bonnie's face also grew grim. "The rest of it was insane and awful. I wish… I wish a lot of things about that day. Mostly that it hadn't happened. I'm just glad everyone's all right."

"Mm-hmm," agreed Stephanie around a mouthful of toast.

"What about you? Mae said something about you getting sick?"

Stephanie washed down the bite with a swallow of her latté before answering. "Not exactly. I just got cold and couldn't get warm."

"Are you okay? Do you know what it was?" When Stephanie gave no reply, Bonnie looked at her quizzically. "What am I missing?"

"You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Not even once I know anything worth telling," pledged Bonnie.

Stephanie looked around before going on. When she was certain no one was within earshot, she said, "I'm pretty sure my chill coincided with Liz and Ari being stuck in that ice cave."

"Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately. I checked the times in the mission reports. And I had some really vivid dreams that morning—one of which included falling." She looked at her lover pointedly, and Bonnie's eyes widened at her implication. "I woke up again later, and for the life of me I couldn't get warm."

"That's wild." The helmsman took a bite of salad and considered this new information. "What are you going to do?"

Stephanie's answer was quiet but emphatic. "Nothing."

"But why not?"

"I've had stuff like this happen all my life and, frankly, little good has ever come of it." Her tone was bitter. "I'd rather just forget all about it."

Bonnie was dubious of this choice, but decided to save it for another time. "So that's why you weren't on the rescue team—because you had that chill."

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason."

"Your tone suggests otherwise," challenged Stephanie. She'd heard the note of suspicion in Bonnie's voice, and she had an idea what it meant.

Bonnie tried to shrug it off, but she couldn't resist getting in a dig on a topic she felt had gone unresolved for far too long. "It's nothing—as long as that's the reason Lieutenant Reed didn't choose you."

"Of course it was," Stephanie said, hoping to end the discussion before it became an argument. To solidify her point, she added, "He even asked how I was doing when I went off duty this morning."

"Two days after the fact."

Stephanie frowned. "Can we not do this tonight, please? I just want a nice meal with my girl. Is that too much to ask?"

"No. Of course not," Bonnie relented. She reached across the table and squeezed her lover's hand. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Before long, Stephanie said, "I heard a rumor that we got another mail dump today."

"That's true," Bonnie confirmed. "Right before I went off duty. Donnelly probably has it sorted and distributed by now. You expecting something?"

Stephanie thought of the most recent letter she'd sent to Ryn, and wondered if she'd gotten it yet. She'd told her sister about Bonnie and asked her to light a candle for them on the next Sabbath. Imbolc was now past. Had a candle been lit? _Maybe by Beltane,_ she thought.

"No," she said in answer to Bonnie's question. "I sent Ryn something, but I doubt she'll have responded yet. It's too soon."

Young once again stood in front of Archer's ready room desk. The Captain sat behind it—just as he had on that fateful morning. It was Archer's first day free from quarantine and he felt oddly rested and yet weary. He still wasn't entirely healthy, but Phlox had deemed him non-contagious and had released him that afternoon. He needed to conclude this interview quickly before the good doctor found out he was working late.

"Over the past two days since the rescue of Ensigns Cutler and Cohn, I've had plenty of time to review everyone's mission reports," he began. "Lieutenant Reed was very impressed with your actions, as am I."

"I was just doing my job, sir," said Young stiffly.

"And that's the point of this interview." Archer took a moment before going on. "Ever since you came to me with your confession—for lack of a better word—I've thought a great deal about what to do. My investigations have revealed neither your partner in your illicit relationship, nor any indication of any further wrong-doing on your part. I don't condone your earlier behavior, but the fact that you came to me of your own accord speaks well of your strength of character. So I'm pleased to inform you that you're hereby reinstated. Lieutenant Reed will expect to see you in the armory first thing in the morning."

Young didn't know whether to cheer or collapse in shock. He decided both would be inappropriate and so said only, "Thank you, sir."

"Keep in mind that this will remain on your record, and another such incident won't be tolerated."

"I understand, sir."

"Dismissed."

Young turned sharply and left the room. Not until he reached the solitude of the turbolift did he allow himself the sort of sigh that only comes from knowing one has avoided the noose.

It had been quite a week. So much had happened in such a short time. He smiled wider than he had in what seemed like months. Finally he felt like his life was back on track.

His step was light as he reached his cabin and went inside. Ari was still in sickbay, and would be for a couple more days, so he had the room to himself. It was late, but he was too keyed up to sleep. He needed something to distract him until his mind calmed down.

That was when he noticed a new message light on his computer. "Now what?" he muttered. "It can't be from Ari this time. I talked to him this afternoon."

To his great surprise, the message was from his brother, Brady. A chill ran down Ian's spine. His brother never wrote to him, and he certainly never sent a video letter—which was what this was. "Computer, play message."

"Hey, little brother," Brady's image said. His eyes were tired and his voice lacked the usual spark and spite Ian expected. "I've got bad news. Mom's dead. I told her a million times to see a doctor, but you know her. Stubborn as any old mule." He took a breath and sighed it out, then ran a hand over his crew-cut hair. Ian recognized the habitual motion; it was what Brady always did when he was forced into an uncomfortable situation. "Anyway, turns out it was cancer. Stupid, eh? Something so easy for the docs to cure, and she let it go 'til it was too late. I don't expect you can make it back for the service. Hell, I don't know if this'll even get to you before then. I just thought you ought to know. So…now you know. Bye."

Ian sat in dumbfounded silence. Slowly a memory came to him: his mom sitting at the table on the porch, checking over the books for the ranch while his dad and Ari shook hands.

He stared at the frozen image on the screen. It couldn't be real. The coincidence was too creepy. He forced himself to say the words that would make the computer play the message again.

There it was, immutable and unmistakable. The news of his mother's death hit him like a blow to the gut. But it was the connection to his dream that was the sucker-punch, sending his mind reeling.

_I don't want this, _ he thought, rising to his feet so quickly that the chair tumbled over and hit the wall. _I don't want any of this. I didn't ask for it._ "No, no, no," he muttered, pacing the cabin like a caged animal. He bumped into the desk and kicked the fallen chair. "No. No!"

Unable to stand the confined space, he left the cabin. _It has to stop. It has to stop. I don't want this! I don't want it!! Make it stop. Make it stop._

His pace increased as the words pounded in his mind, echoing until they lost all meaning. He reached his destination without knowing how he'd gotten there. He didn't care. He rang the chime.

_Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop, _ his mind repeated over and over.

The door opened, and the words tumbled from his mouth.

"Make it stop!"

T'Pol looked at him. "Ensign Young," she said, surprised by his unexpected appearance. "I don't understand."

"The vision, dream, psychic thing," he replied, intense and nearly incoherent. His eyes were wild, and his tone grew more frantic with every word. "Make it stop. I don't want it. Make it stop!"

"Ensign, calm down." She raised her voice to be heard over his frenzied babbling.

"No!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, startling her, and shouted, "_You have to make it stop!_"

Without word or pause, T'Pol twisted agilely from his grasp and reached out a hand. She pinched him firmly half way between his shoulder and the curve of his neck. Ian went rigid, his eyes rolling up in his head as he collapsed. The Vulcan woman caught him as he fell and lowered him smoothly to the deckplating. Then she opened a comm line.

"T'Pol to sickbay." She glanced down at Ian's unconscious form. She suspected he was more in need of psychiatric help than medical, but in the meantime she did what she deemed most logical. "Request assistance."

  
End Log 2:25  
_Completed 13 July 04  
Revised 31 July 04_

Continued in Log 2:26


	26. Log 2:26

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

* * *

**Log 2:26**: (Immediately following Log 2:25 and preceding _Regeneration_)  
_Rating PG-13, language_  
**Author's Notes**: Idris kept saying, "It needs more Phlox!" So (two rewrites later) there is more Phlox, doggedly tying everything together. You'd better be happy now, woman! ;-P  
Ensign Ari Cohn belongs to Squeaky Lightfoot and is used with permission.

* * *

Ian awoke with a splitting headache. He laid still, eyes closed, trying to determine what had caused it. He came to the immediate and obvious conclusion that he'd gotten blind drunk, passed out, and now had one mother of a hangover. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. But as he continued to lie there, he began to doubt his hangover theory. Yes, his head pounded, but his stomach wasn't upset and his mouth wasn't even dry.

All at once, memory hit him: his dream; his brother's letter; his mother's death. His panicked plea on T'Pol's doorstep. Then nothing.

Ian groaned and opened his eyes.

"Ah, Ensign Young. How are you feeling?"

He looked up into the solicitous visage of Doctor Phlox. "Like crap. What happened?"

"You collapsed outside Sub-commander T'Pol's quarters." It was essentially true. Phlox didn't mention what had caused the ensign's collapse, although he knew. T'Pol had explained why she'd used the Vulcan nerve pinch on Young, and Phlox had agreed it was the most logical action under the circumstances.

Ian slowly sat up on the biobed, one hand to his temple. "I must have hit my head when I fell."

"Here," Phlox said, pressing a hypospray to Ian's neck. Immediately Ian began to feel better.

"Thanks. Can I go?"

"If you're feeling up to it. There's no medical reason to keep you here overnight."

"What time is it?" Ian stood, taking a moment to regain his equilibrium.

"Not quite midnight. Plenty of time for you to get some rest before Alpha shift." Phlox smiled. He knew Young had just been returned to duty; Archer had posted the notice to his department heads before turning in for the night.

"Wait. Can I see Ari before I go?"

"He's asleep. You're welcome to come by tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll do that. After I get off shift." Ian was surprised at how good it felt to say that.

"And after that, you're expected to report to Sub-commander T'Pol."

"Huh?"

"She left orders for you to see her at 1800 hours tomorrow."

Suddenly Ian's stomach didn't feel so good anymore. He wished he could fall back on his hang-over theory to explain it. "Did she say why?" he asked, although he already knew why.

"No."

"Okay. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Good-night, Ensign."

"Night." Ian left sickbay, glancing briefly at a dark, curtained bay where he guessed his sleeping bunkmate was concealed. _Better get some sleep, myself,_ he thought as he walked slowly back to their cabin. _Big day tomorrow._ The words held none of the anticipation he'd felt earlier that evening.

* * *

The cabin door chimed and Liz called out, "Come in!" She smiled when Mae entered, but didn't rise from where she sat on her bunk. Her legs were stretched out in front of her with a pillow under her healing ankle. "Hi there. Are you looking for Stephanie?"

"No," Mae replied.

"Good, because she's not here. What's up? Have a seat."

"Thanks. Sorry to stop by so late."

Liz shrugged and smiled. "Obviously I was still up." She had only changed into her pajamas a few minutes before, and was now going over some alien entomological data before turning in for the night.

Mae sat in the desk chair. "How's your ankle?" she asked, although her heart wasn't in the inquiry. Her expression was grim, and a small frown creased her usually smooth forehead.

Liz noticed her demeanor. "I'll be fine," she said dismissively, then asked in concern, "Is everything okay?" She set aside her datapad.

Mae answered with what Liz at first thought was a non-sequitur. "When you thought Travis was dead, and then you discovered he wasn't, what did you do?"

"What? I don't know, really." Liz thought about it. "I didn't believe it at first. Then when I didI cried with relief, I know. Why?"

"Well, yeah. Right on. But I meanhow did you deal with it?"

"Deal with what? I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're getting at." Liz gave Mae an apologetic look.

The engineer paused before replying. "Maybe I'm just being dumb. We're all at risk all the time, right? So why should I be so freaked out about it this time?"

Finally Liz had an inkling of what was going on. "This is about the away mission Ari and I were on."

"Yeah," Mae admitted. "I mean, I didn't expect it, you know?"

"Neither did we," Liz replied wryly.

"Well, yeah, no. Of course not." Mae paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "I don't date security personnel, you know? I thought" She trailed off, not really sure what she thought.

Liz could see the trouble she was having and made a guess. "You thought dating Ari would be safe."

"Yeah." Mae nodded, glad she didn't have to explain it herself. She doubted she could have done it as succinctly as Liz.

"But we all risk our lives every day just by being out here."

"I know. See? I'm just being dumb."

"No, you're not," Liz reassured her. She hesitated, worried that her next question might be prying. Mae was a private person, not in the habit of openly sharing the details of her personal life. "Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

"You mean Ari? No," admitted Mae. She'd hardly even visited him in sickbay, and then only when she knew he was asleep. She couldn't talk to him until she knew what to say. So far she didn't have a clue.

"Actually, I meant Doctor Douglas. He really helped me out when I thought I'd lost Travis. And after I got him back."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." They sat in silence while Mae considered this. "What did he say?"

Liz thought back. Nearly a year had passed since they'd found that strange and treacherous repair station. "He reminded me that we're at risk every moment we're out here. It's not just the security team who risk their lives. We all do. He helped me understand that and accept it, and he showed me that I had to decide."

When Liz paused, Mae prompted her. "Decide what?"

"Whether I loved Travis enough to lose him."

Mae frowned. "Um I don't get it."

Liz sat up straighter and leaned forward. "The closer you get to someone, the harder it is to lose them. I had to decide if I was willing to risk that kind of hurt. I don't know how you and Ari feel about each other, and it's none of my business so I won't ask. But I think you do need to ask yourself that question, and I think you should talk to Ari."

There was a lengthy silence while Mae mulled this over. _Do I love Ari? If I do, is it enough? He said he loves me,_ she thought, remembering the strange conversation with Ari when he'd suddenly appeared in Engineering. _Or I _thought_ he said he loves me, but if he wasn't on board Did I really imagine it? What does it mean if I did? Does that mean I _want_ him to love me, and if that's true, I must love him, right? Otherwise why would I imagine what I think I imagined?_ Her head swam. _If I wasn't nuts then, I will be before I figure this out._

Mae was quiet for so long that Liz began to wonder if she'd overstepped the engineer's boundaries and offended her. When Mae eventually spoke, it didn't clear up the exobiologist's concerns. "Huh." She stood.

"You don't have to go," said Liz hurriedly. She was convinced Mae was leaving because she was upset with her.

"No, I should go. It's late. Thanks for your help."

"Are you sure? Really, you can stay if you want."

"No, thanks. You're right. I need to think about things some more."

"I'm here any time if you need to talk again."

"Sure," said Mae, genuinely appreciative of the invitation, even though she didn't expect to take Liz up on it. "Thanks."

There was nothing else for Liz to say. "You're welcome."

Mae gave her a small nod and left the cabin.

* * *

The diagnostic bed slid smoothly out of the imaging chamber, and Ari sat up. He was still sore from his recent injuries, but he managed to turn just enough to read the results of his scan.

Next to him, Phlox examined the data, too. "Very good!" he encouraged, smiling. "You're making excellent progress."

"Thanks."

Phlox called up the previous day's scans and compared them with the new results. "Excellent progress," he repeated. "In fact, when we're done here, you'll be free to go."

"So I can sleep in my own bed tonight?" While not the most comfortable mattress in the world, Ari definitely preferred his bunk to the beds in sickbay.

"Yes."

"And go back on duty tomorrow?"

"Half shift, light duties."

Ari gave the doctor an ironic smile. "My C.O. will make sure I take it easy."

"Hm?" Phlox looked at him directly and realization dawned. He chuckled. "I'm sure he will. Lie back, please."

Ari lay back down while the doctor continued his examination with a hand-held medical scanner. "So, Phlox" Ari began, and then hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Did I have any visitors last night?"

"Last night?" Phlox's attention was more on his scans than on the conversation. It took a little prompting from Ari to fully register the question.

"While I was asleep."

"Ensign Young was here."

"Oh."

"Were you expecting someone else?" Phlox asked, finally shutting off his scanner and tucking it into a pocket.

"Not exactly. I just thought Mae might have stopped by."

"She's been in a few times," confirmed the doctor, "but not last night."

"Oh. Has she?"

Ari's tone was casual, but his feigned indifference didn't fool Phlox. "Is something wrong between you two?"

Before Ari could answer, the door swooshed open and Ian entered. He waved a hello, calling to his bunkmate as he crossed the room. "Hey, buddy. How's it going?"

"Okay," Ari said, sitting up once more and carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Good evening, Ensign," Phlox said.

"Evening," Ian replied.

"Guess what? I'm getting out of here tonight," announced Ari.

"So I'm stuck with you again, eh? I suppose I can deal with that." Ian's grin belied his grousing words. While there was something to be said for bunking alone, there was also something to be said for having his best friend back where he could talk to him privately. "But don't expect me to clean the cabin for your homecoming."

Ari laughed. "They'd have to put me back in here if you did. I'd be in severe shock." He looked over at Phlox. "Are we done?"

"We are," the doctor replied. "I'll see you back here in the morning for physical therapy and your half shift of light duties."

Ari smirked at the overt reminder. He looked back at Ian. "You want to get dinner?"

Ian's face darkened almost imperceptibly. "I've got to be somewhere in a few minutes. Can you wait until 2000 hours?"

"Sure. It'll probably take me that long to shower and get dressed anyway," Ari joked. "Why?"

"I'll tell you over dinner. See you later." Ian left, relieved that Ari didn't press the matter and confident that Phlox wouldn't mention it. He'd been dreading his upcoming meeting with T'Pol ever since Phlox had told him of it late last night. He was sure it would involve more sitting on the floor and staring at candle flames. On the other hand, he'd ask for this. He'd gone to her of his own choice, even if he hadn't been entirely rational at the time.

Suddenly he heard Cormack's voice in his head, repeating words she'd spoken to him just a few short days ago. _"Stop whining and deal,"_ she'd said. The advice was as appropriate now as it had been then. Ian headed to T'Pol's cabin.

Reaching it, he took a moment to steel himself before ringing the chime. The door opened almost immediately.

"Ensign," said T'Pol in greeting.

"You wanted to see me?" Young felt it was best to get to the point and get the interview over with as quickly as possible.

"Yes. Come in." She ushered him inside and allowed the door to close.

Young surreptitiously looked around the cabin. He was relieved yet wary to see that the altar they had used previously had not been set up.

"Last night you asked for my help," T'Pol began, also intent on getting to the heart of the matter. "You were highly agitated at that time. I must ask if your request still stands."

Young looked at her, trying to guess what she was thinking. All day long the memory of what he'd done had niggled at the back of his mind. Even with the constant, silent reminder, he hadn't been able to decide whether he regretted his actions or not. And now here was T'Pol, apparently giving him the chance to back out. _But is she really?_ he wondered, looking at her. Her inscrutable expression gave him no clues. "Do I have a choice?" he asked finally.

T'Pol's expression grew curious. "Of course. I won't force you to face whatever disturbed you so greatly that you came here in the state you did."

There was another pause while Young considered what she said. _For supposedly being unemotional, she sure is good at emotional manipulation._ "Permission to speak freely?" T'Pol nodded once. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to stare at candles and do whatever other mumbo jumbo you might come up with. But" He paused, bracing himself as he had outside her door. "I need your help."

* * *

Trip and Malcolm sat on adjacent stationary bikes, pedaling in a leisurely way to warm up their legs.

"So how d'you like having your whole team working again?" Trip asked.

Malcolm considered his answer before replying. Young's first week back on the job had been unexciting but productive. He'd simply picked up his duties as if he'd never left them. "It was fine."

"Just 'fine'? Are you sure you're not being overly enthusiastic?" teased the engineer.

Malcolm gave Trip a look acknowledging the quip, and then followed it up with a shrug. "I'm not sure what more you want. I'm pleased to have a full team again, of course. Working extra shifts and split shifts was beginning to wear."

"You're telling me." Trip had noticed his lover's increased fatigue and tension during Young's absence from duty. He'd lost some weight he could ill afford to lose, and now the gray t-shirt he wore hung too loosely on him, as did his workout pants. His eyes had grown tired and dull. He looked all in.

In that moment, Trip made it his mission to see that Malcolm ate regularly and got enough sleep. He hoped it wouldn't be long before the sparkle was back in Malcolm's bright blue eyes. Trip hated when it was missing and he could do nothing to fix it.

Malcolm shot him a curious glance. "I'm not quite sure how to take that."

"Then take it as me being glad you won't have to work quite so hard anymore. You deserve a break."

"I haven't done anything extraordinary," protested Malcolm. "Everyone aboard works hard. I just think of the past month as balancing out some of the quieter days."

"You mean duller days," said Trip, knowing how Malcolm preferred being busy to being bored.

A tiny smile quirked the armory officer's lips. "Quite." He reached out and adjusted the controls of his bike, increasing the resistance. "What about you? Have you and T'Pol made any progress studying those magnetic interference data?"

Although they no longer orbited the frozen world, examination of what they had found there continued. Phlox and his team studied the plants and animals, which had been retrieved after the rescue of Cohn and Cutler. Trip and T'Pol had the task of trying to determine why they'd had such a hard time filtering out the interference from the magnetic ore.

"Some," Trip replied, "but not enough. The wave patterns are inconsistent, and they don't match anything I've ever seen before. I wish we had a sample of that ore."

"Sorry. I suppose I ought to have loaded up my pockets before getting the ensigns out of that cave." Malcolm's tiny smile grew into a teasing smirk as he spoke.

Trip chuckled. "Yeah. What the hell were you thinking?" he joked back.

"I can't imagine."

* * *

Phlox sat down and set the large container of popcorn he carried on his lap. Ever since he'd learned what this week's movie was about, he'd looked forward to it with acute anticipation. He hoped it would give him a bit more insight into certain human mating rituals with which he was so far only vaguely familiar.

"Are these seats taken?" a voice to his right asked.

Phlox looked up and smiled. "Not at all! Please, join me."

Kyrin and Liam sat down, exchanging pleasantries with the Denobulan as they did.

"Popcorn?" He held up the bucket in offering.

"Thanks," said Liam, taking some with his free hand. In his other, he held a large glass of a liquid so dark it practically absorbed the light. "I don't know what it is about popcorn and Guinness, but I've always loved the combination." He tossed back several popped kernels and washed them down with a swallow of beer.

"I will never understand your affinity for that particular beverage," Kyrin said, eyeing the pint glass with distaste.

"It's good for me!" The young Irishman took another drink and smiled in satisfaction. He gave a deliberately exaggerated sigh of contentment. "Ahh! Better than mother's milk."

"It's bread in a glass. I don't know how you can stomach it."

Phlox listened to their banter in fascination and amusement. It was clear each man enjoyed teasing and baiting the other, and he found the interplay as intriguing as ever. He was positive he would never tire of watching humans interact with one another—particularly mated pairs of humans. He took a bite of popcorn and once more offered it to his seating companions. This time both took him up on it.

"On Denobula," Phlox said when the others' mouths were full, "there's a drink that's particularly enjoyed in the Kaybin Bars. It sounds similar to your Guinness. Many people find it enhances the experience."

"The experience?" asked Kyrin curiously.

"Yes. The purpose for going to a Kaybin Bar—"

But before Phlox could elucidate, the lights in the Rec. Center dimmed. Several people shushed the chatty physician, and the movie began to play.

* * *

Bonnie rang the chime to Stephanie and Liz's cabin. The door opened almost immediately, revealing a smiling Stephanie.

"Hi!" she said eagerly.

Now that Stephanie had had time to get used to her Gamma shift routine, the couple were able to spend many of their evenings together. Bonnie felt a little guilty about taking so much of her girlfriend's down time. She knew Stephanie could really use some extra rest. She'd begun to look worn out, even when Bonnie knew she'd slept well. The helmsman was certain she knew what was causing it, but she kept quiet. She didn't want to start another argument. Especially not tonight. Tonight was movie night, and they had a date.

"Hi," echoed Bonnie. "Sorry I'm late. You ready to go?"

"Not quite," Stephanie said.

"The movie's starting any minute. We're going to miss the beginning."

"ActuallyI hope you don't mind, but I thought we could spend the evening in."

"I thought you wanted to go to the movie."

"I want to see the movie," agreed Stephanie. "I just don't want to see it with everyone else. So" She backed up and finally let Bonnie into the room. "I took the liberty of ordering in."

The door slid shut behind Bonnie, and she looked around the cabin. Two covered plates sat on the desk. Next to them were two wine glasses and a bottle of dealcoholized white wine in a cooler.

"I hope that's okay."

"Of course. What's for dinner?" Bonnie asked. She gave Stephanie an inquiring look, and Stephanie nodded for her to go ahead and see. Bonnie lifted the cover on one of the plates. She smiled, inhaling the spicy, exotic scents that rose on the released steam. "Chicken Pad Thai," she began, examining the plate. "Jasmine rice, andsomething in peanut sauce."

"Rama Garden," Stephanie told her. "And some Gewürztraminer. I always prefer sweet wine with spicy food."

"Always." Bonnie smiled and replaced the cover to keep the heat in.

"You don't mind watching the movie on a small screen, do you?"

"Hmm." Bonnie pretended to consider her choices. "Watching on a big screen with lots of other people, or watching on a small screen with no one around but me and you, with the option of pausing the film at any moment so I can fondle and perhaps even ravish you. GeeI don't know"

Stephanie laughed. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to give you the choice."

"Tough choice. Pour the wine," Bonnie ordered, grinning.

"Yes, ma'am!" Stephanie snapped briefly to attention, and then went to open the wine. As she poured it, Bonnie kicked off her boots and took a seat on the bunk.

"Tell me again what this movie is," she requested.

"It's called _Secretary_. It's a sweet, romantic little Dominance and submission flick." Stephanie set down the wine bottle and handed a filled glass to her. Bonnie took it, thanking her, and Stephanie went on. "I saw it once years ago, and I'd completely forgotten about it until I saw it on the schedule for tonight. It's okay for a group viewing, but if I'm remembering it correctly, I'd prefer a private viewing for just you and me. Hungry?"

Bonnie nodded. "Mm-hmm." She set her glass on the nightstand and took the uncovered plate Stephanie offered.

Stephanie dimmed the lights to half, quickly set a Do Not Disturb order on both their comms, and locked the door. She started the film running on the computer, and then grabbed her own plate of food and settled in on the bunk next to Bonnie. Stephanie smiled to herself. If she'd planned the evening right, she would go on duty later wearing a satisfied grin while Bonnie slept the sleep of the sexually sated.

Bonnie glanced at her as the movie began. "What's that smile for?"

"You'll find out," Stephanie replied cryptically, a lascivious gleam in her eyes. "Watch the film."

* * *

Cohn, Young, and Mayweather sat at a mess hall table. Each man had a beer and at least one empty in front of him. Young swigged back the last of his drink and set the pint glass on the table. "Who's up for another round?" he asked.

"Sure," said Mayweather, gauging what he had left. "It's not like I'm the one who has to get up early in the morning."

Young looked at his bunkmate. "Ari?"

"Why not?" Cohn answered. "This one'll be empty by the time you get back."

"You want a real one this time?"

"No, thanks. Mixing alcohol with pain meds isn't a good idea." Cohn was drinking non-alcoholic beer that night. It wasn't his favorite beverage, but he was still occasionally taking an analgesic for his recently healed injuries.

"I dunno," Young joked. "It sounds like good chemistry to me." He rose and went to get them all fresh drinks.

Mayweather took a swallow of beer. "So where's Rostov? He hasn't joined us for a guys' night in weeks."

Cohn kept his tone casual. He knew why Rostov wasn't there, but it wasn't for him to say. That was Young's secret. "I think he's just been really busy."

"We haven't had more than three guys' nights in the past two months," Mayweather pointed out. "He couldn't make even one?"

"I guess not." Cohn's eyes flicked to where Young stood waiting for the next round of beers. The last glass was filling. "Bad timing, I guess."

Mayweather downed the last of his drink just as Young arrived with new ones. Cohn took advantage of the moment, quickly changing the subject. "How's Liz?" he asked Mayweather, as Young passed around the drinks and sat down.

"Great! Her ankle is healed, and there's not a bruise left on her."

"You checked that out thoroughly, eh?" said Young suggestively.

"I sure wasn't gonna let you do it," Mayweather retorted.

Young and Cohn laughed, and Mayweather grinned at them, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. Young raised his glass in toast to his friend's quick come-back. "Cheers."

"So how's it feel to be a working man again?" Mayweather asked.

"Who? Me or him?" Young replied, tipping his head toward his bunkmate.

"Both of you, now that you mention it, but I was talking to you." He nodded to Young.

"It's good."

There was a brief pause.

"Just good?"

"Yeah."

When Mayweather realized that Young didn't plan to go on, he said, "Okay," and turned to Cohn. "How about you?"

Cohn answered him eagerly. "Excellent. It's great to be back to full-time, too. I like being in sickbay, just not as a patient."

"Liz said the same thing."

"They say doctors are the worst patients," put in Young.

"I wouldn't go that far," Cohn said. "Have you ever been in sickbay when Cormack was there? It's not a lot of fun. After a day or two, even Phlox finds her annoying."

Young pursed his lips. "Yeah. That's one word for her."

"I thought you guys got along okay," said Mayweather.

"Usually. It's just sometimes she can be" Young took a swallow of beer while he sought for the right word. "pushy."

"Pushy?"

"Yeah." Young was good at holding grudges, and he had a bit of one going against his fellow armory ensign. He held her responsible for telling T'Pol about his premonitory dream. He couldn't argue that if she hadn't forced him to talk about it they might never have found Ari and Liz, but that didn't stop him from resenting her interference. Even though it had been his choice to go to her in the first place, and later to approach T'Pol for help, he still felt it was Cormack's fault that he was in his current situation. On an unconscious level, he even blamed her for his psychic episodes.

_It doesn't help that I'm getting nowhere in those damn sessions with T'Pol,_ he thought in grumpy frustration.

"Is there something I'm missing?" Mayweather looked from Young to Cohn and back again. He couldn't tell if Cohn knew what was up, but he was sure Young was keeping secrets.

"Yeah, there is," affirmed Young. He raised his beer to his lips only to discover he'd already drunk it all without realizing. He set the glass down again.

"Are you gonna tell me what it is?"

Young looked at Mayweather. The beers he'd consumed had shortened his temper and loosened his tongue, or he might have kept his mouth shut. However, sober judgment wasn't his strong suit on the best of days. "Sure. You're missing that I'm going fucking nuts. I'm dreaming about people dying, and then they turn up dead—or almost." He glanced at his bunkmate, who looked surprised at this revelation. "What? You don't remember showing up in my dream? Or in the shuttlepod?"

Cohn's face went pale. Young had confided a little of why he was seeing T'Pol, but this was news to Ari. "I hallucinated that."

"Right. Hallucinated yourself into my head. And now I'm stuck staring at candles with Sub-commander T'Pol, and it's totally useless."

"Wait," interrupted Mayweather. "What are you guys talking about?"

"I'm talking about all this time I'm wasting trying to have another vision so she can teach me how to make it not happen."

"That doesn't make sense."

Young sighed in aggravation. "She said I have to understand what I can do before I can learn how to counter it."

"But if it's not happening, why does it matter?"

Young paused. He didn't have a good answer. "It just does! I don't want it to happen again, so I need to make it happen, so I know how to stop it happening."

Cohn remained silent as they continued to argue. He was stunned. This was the first indication he'd had that the hallucinations he'd experienced while trapped in the frozen cavern had affected anyone but himself. He clearly remembered the dream Young mentioned. He remembered meeting Ian's father and seeing his mother seated at a table near by. He remembered the shuttlepod where he thanked Ian for trying to save him. Ari never imagined any of it was real.

"Excuse me," he said, rising abruptly.

The others looked at him, startled by his interruption. They'd been so involved in their debate that neither had noticed Cohn's silence.

"You okay?" Young asked, concerned at his friend's pallor.

"I need to go see Phlox."

"You need someone to take you?"

"No. Excuse me," repeated Cohn as he moved away.

Mayweather glanced at Young, and then back at their departing friend. "He doesn't look so good."

"Yeah," agreed Young. "I'm going after him—make sure he gets there okay. See you later." He rose and followed his bunkmate out into the corridor. "Ari?" he said, catching up to him. "What's going on?"

"I need to go see Phlox," Ari said again.

"Okay, but why? Are you feeling okay?"

Ari stopped in his tracks, bringing his bunkmate up short beside him. "You saw me. I was in that cave, but I talked to you and you heard me."

"Yeah." Ian didn't like it, and he hadn't meant to mention it tonight. In fact he wished he could take it all back. Now it was out, though, there was no point denying it.

"I talked to Phlox that day, too," Ari went on. "He told me I had to go back. Then I woke up and saw you. At first I thought I was imagining you again, but it hurt too much not to be real."

"Hang on, hang on." Ian took a moment to think as the reality of what he was hearing sank in. "You mean it wasn't just me?"

Ari's temper snapped. "Are you even listening to me? No, it wasn't just you! Now I need to know if Phlox remembers like you do, because if he does—" He stopped short.

"What? If he does, what?"

"Nothing. I've got to go." He strode quickly away, and this time Ian didn't follow him. Ari was glad. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to talk to Phlox without anyone else around to overhear or ask questions. _Please let him not remember,_ he thought. In his mind, he finished what he'd nearly blurted out to Ian. _Because if he does, then Mae probably does, too._

It would certainly explain a lot. He and Mae had begun to grow very close prior to the mission, but she had acted strangely towards him ever since he and Liz were rescued. Ari couldn't understand it—until now. Now he had a fair idea what was wrong.

_I told her I love her._

His mind was in turmoil. _Do I love her, or did I only think I did because I thought I was dying? And how does she feel? I have no idea. Does she even know what I said?_ Ian remembered at least one of Ari's out-of-body visits, but perhaps that was only because they'd known each other such a long time. _Are Mae and I close enough to have connected that way, too? I don't even know how we did it. Neither of us is psychic._ His spinning mind stopped on a sudden thought. _At least not that I know of. Ian _is_ working with T'Pol. Maybe he just never said anything before._

I've got to talk to Phlox. Once I talk to Phlox I'll have an idea.

He didn't know what he would do then, but at least it was a starting point.

* * *

Archer and his department heads stood around the situation room table. The weekly briefing had so far brought only routine information. Having already heard reports from Sato, Reed, and Phlox, Archer turned next to his Chief Engineer.

Tucker knew what was coming. He had been working on isolating, identifying, and counteracting the interference patterns they'd encountered on the frozen planet where they'd nearly lost Ensigns Cutler and Cohn. Even with T'Pol's help, he'd had little to no success on the assignment. He wasn't looking forward to giving the captain yet another unsatisfactory report.

"Commander?" asked Archer.

Choosing to delay the inevitable, Tucker launched into a report on warp and impulse engine efficiency, various systems' status, and the general excellence of his engineering team. When he ran out of good news, he hesitated.

Archer directed his next question not only to Tucker, but to T'Pol as well. "How's that research going?"

Tucker looked at T'Pol and then back at the Captain. "We've isolated the interference pattern," he said.

"You'd done that last week," Archer reminded him.

"Yeah. The thing is that the pattern isn't consistent. According to the data we recorded, it looks like it's almost random."

"Almost?"

"There are sections we've found that repeat, but not consistently. That's why we had such a hard time countering the interference in the first place."

Phlox spoke up. "I wonder," he began, "If I could take a look at the pattern data?"

Tucker was mildly surprised, but he wasn't going to turn down any request that could lead to a solution. "Sure." He typed in a command on the console in front of him, and the interference data appeared on the wall screen.

Phlox stepped around Tucker to get a closer view of the screen. He didn't have a solid theory when he asked to see the data, only a supposition. Ari's visit to sickbay the previous night had given him the idea.

"Do you see anything interesting, Doctor?" Archer asked.

"I do." Phlox glanced back over his shoulder. "Commander, would you please transfer a copy of this to the sickbay computer? And any results of your own research would be helpful, too."

Tucker felt a mixture of excitement and annoyance. "You recognize something?"

"Possibly." Finally Phlox turned to face the gathered officers. "The patterns presented here bear a surprising similarity to a human EEG—or, more accurately, several EEGs."

"EEG?" asked Tucker, before anyone else could speak up.

"Electroencephalograph," the Doctor clarified. "A visual representation of a brain wave."

Tucker was incredulous. "Are you trying to tell me those rocks were sentient?"

"Not at all." Phlox fell easily into lecture mode. "Every kind of matter as we know it gives off an electrical charge—whether minute, like a lemon, or powerful, like a lightning strike. There's no reason to be surprised that there is a mineral that happens to mimic a human brain wave. The surprise comes in us finding it by random chance."

T'Pol chose that moment to comment. "It would help explain the difficulty we've had countering it. Humans have no standard method of blocking mental communication."

"And it would explain some of the stranger incidents experienced by certain crewmembers during the emergency." Phlox met her gaze deliberately and was pleased to see she understood what he meant. He was aware of the meditative sessions Ensign Young and T'Pol were having—and about their failure to achieve anything.

The rest of the department heads looked at the pair curiously, but it was only Archer who felt the authority to inquire. "Do you two care to explain what you're talking about?" Although he phrased it as a question, it was clearly more than a simple request.

"There was some unusual psychic activity during the crisis," T'Pol said cryptically.

"I see." Archer paused, waiting for her to continue.

"Perhaps the Sub-commander and I could speak with you privately," suggested Phlox.

The Captain looked around at the curious expressions on the other officers' faces. _They can keep wondering,_ he thought. _I need to know what's going on._ "Does anyone have anything more to report?" The response was negative. Archer looked at T'Pol and Phlox. "All right. In my ready room."

Before they could disappear, Tucker said, "Captain?"

Archer met his inquiring and hopeful gaze, and made a quick decision. "Join us, Commander. You've worked more on this project than anyone."

The four of them squished into the Captain's ready room where none of them sat down. Even Archer chose to stand behind his desk. "All right. Who's going to start the explanations?"

T'Pol looked at Phlox. "It's your theory, Doctor."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a theory," Phlox disagreed, but seeing the look on Archer's face, he went on. "There were a number of unusual incidents during the time when Ensigns Cutler and Cohn were trapped."

Archer's patience was growing short, but he kept his tone even. "So you said."

"Ah, yes. WellI was one of those who experienced such an incident."

"What do you mean, exactly, by 'incident'?"

"I suppose it would best be described as a psychic projection."

"Psychic projection?" echoed Archer doubtfully.

"Yes."

"According to one crewmember," T'Pol said, "he was visited twice by Ensign Cohn while the ensign was trapped on the planet. Once in a dream, once while he was awake."

"I see." Archer was still dubious, but willing to listen. He turned again to Phlox. "And were you 'visited' by Ensign Cohn, too?"

"I was," the doctor confirmed. "It was shortly before he was rescued, in fact."

Even as he spoke, Archer could hardly believe the words were coming from his own mouth. "Do any of the crewmembers involved have any history ofpsychic abilities?"

"None, which is why I'm intrigued by the patterns Commander Tucker showed us. It's possible that the energy put out by the magnetic ore actually enabled Ensign Cohn to contact others—people with whom he feels particularly close, for example."

"Which would explain why he spoke to you, his immediate superior." The Captain tried, but he was having trouble digesting all this new information. He'd never been a great believer in psychic phenomena. _Why not?_ he asked himself. _What makes it any crazier than Daniels being a 30th century time traveler?_

T'Pol had more to say on the matter. "It would also explain why the crewmember he contacted twice has had no further incidence of psychic activity." At the enquiring looks she received from Archer and Tucker, she added, "I have been working with the crewmember—at his request—to explore and block this ability. Thus far we've had no success triggering it."

"You think that's because?"

"We are no longer in proximity of the magnetic ore," she finished for the Captain.

"All right." Archer took a moment to think. "Trip, give Phlox everything you've got. Doctor, let me know as soon as you have anything new. T'Pol, work with Phlox on this one. And from now on" Here he fixed his Science Officer and Ship's Physician with a pointed look. "I want to see more thorough mission reports. Dismissed."

Phlox hesitated, waiting for Tucker and T'Pol to leave before turning back to the Captain. "I'd like your permission to run some tests on certain members of the crew," he began.

"Tests?"

"Nothing drastic. I want to see if there's a physiological correlation among the people who came into contact with the ore and those who experienced psychic activity aboard the ship—including myself, of course."

Archer considered. He doubted Phlox would come up with anything concrete, but he saw no reason to deny the request. "Go ahead. Just keep me informed."

* * *

It was easy getting Ensign Cohn to agree to the examinations he wanted to make. Immediately after the staff meeting, Phlox took a variety of very specific scans of the med-tech's brain. Next he submitted himself to the exact same scans. Despite the differences between Denobulan and human physiologies, he believed there must be a common element that had allowed Cohn to speak to him telepathically.

That complete, Phlox contacted the armory. While Reed hadn't been in on the meeting in Archer's office, he was at least aware of Phlox's hypothesis. It was no trouble convincing him to send Young up to sickbay straight away, and to come himself later.

Young arrived in sickbay soon after Phlox spoke with Reed. He submitted to the scans without protest. He wasn't thrilled with the situation, but he was willing to go along with it if it meant finding out he wouldn't have to worry about any more visions. "Do you really think you'll find something?" he asked as he was rolled out of the large medical scanner.

"I'm sure I'll find _something_," Phlox said. He gave Young a brief but pleasant smile. "Whether or not it will help me reach a solid conclusion is up for debate."

Young sat up. He wasn't willing to let it go that easily. "But there's a possibility—a strong possibility—that I'm not psychic."

"A possibility," concurred Phlox.

"A _strong_ possibility," insisted Young.

"It does seem likely, but with the little in—"

Phlox didn't get any further as Young cut him off. "Great! That's _great_. So I'm done here?" he asked eagerly.

Phlox decided not to argue the point. While he didn't have enough information to prove Young right, neither did he have enough to prove him wrong. _Best to wait until I've examined all the data._ "Yes. Thank you for letting me interrupt your day."

"You're welcome." He glanced over at Cohn who was assisting Phlox in collecting data. Cohn smiled encouragingly. "See you later," Young said.

"See you," his bunkmate echoed.

Once he was gone, Phlox turned to Cohn. "You said last night that you also spoke with Ensign Lawless."

"Yeah," confirmed Cohn a little reluctantly. He still hadn't really talked to Mae, and he had no idea how she would react when he did. Now he was about to find out. Phlox would hail Engineering, Mae would come to sickbay, and the proverbial cat would be out of the bag.

Phlox examined Lawless's medical records, unaware of Cohn's apprehension. "Hmm."

"Hmm?" asked Cohn.

"I'd almost forgotten." Phlox didn't look up as he went on. "Ensign Lawless was here shortly before I returned from the planet. I saw it in the records, but never bothered to find out why. That was remiss of me."

This was news to Cohn. "She was here?"

"Yes. Apparently she was in because she thought she was coming down with something. Emily checked her over, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Hm!" he grunted in surprise. "Ensign Cormack was in that day, too, while Lawless was here."

"Really?" Cohn joined him at the computer and read the screen over the doctor's shoulder. "That's strange."

"It is. This says she was complaining of a severe chill, but again Emily found nothing that might be causing it. Since neither of the ensigns returned later, there was no reason to look back at the records before now."

"I can't believe Cormack came in here just because she was cold."

"It does seem unlikely," agreed Phlox. He'd found there were only two ways to get Cormack into sickbay—unconscious or under a direct order. He turned to Cohn. "You didn't contact her while you were incapacitated, did you?" It seemed the most likely possibility.

Cohn shook his head. "No. At least I don't remember contacting her. I can't think why I would have anyway."

Another thought struck Phlox. "Has Liz mentioned anything?"

"No."

"Hmm" He grew thoughtful.

"Are you going to examine Cormack, too?"

"I'm considering it. I think she would be worth adding to our sample, don't you?"

"I suppose, but she won't like it."

"No. But if she comes in with Liz, we might just get her to agree."

"Maybe."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly Beta shift."

"Really?" Phlox was surprised.

"Time flies when you're having fun," joked Cohn.

"I suppose it does. Well," Phlox said, "first things first. Let's get Ensign Lawless in here, hm?"

"She'll be off duty soon," said Cohn quickly. "You might as well wait—since it's so close to the end of the shift, I mean." He didn't want to be there when Mae came in. He wanted to see her and talk to her, but not in an official capacity and not with Phlox there. "If she and Cormack come at the same time and while Liz is on duty, you'll have an even better chance of getting Cormack to agree to the scans."

"That's a very good point. It's waited this long. There's no harm in waiting a little longer."

"Right." Cohn smiled in relief. It was only a temporary reprieve, but he would take what he could get.

* * *

"Explain to me again what I'm doing here?" Cormack said in annoyance. "And why it couldn't have waited until I'd had a latté." She stood stubbornly in sickbay's open doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She was in uniform, but she clearly hadn't been awake for very long. Her hair was in a sloppy ponytail instead of her usual tidy braid, and she had shadows under her eyes.

"Everyone who experienced anything unusual while _Enterprise_ was in orbit over the frozen planet is going through this same procedure," Cutler told her. "Mae's inside the medical scanner right now."

"Why do you think I experienced anything unusual?"

Phlox answered without turning around. "You came here yourself complaining of a severe chill."

"I thought I'd caught the captain's flu." It wasn't entirely true, but it was true enough as far as Cormack was concerned. "I hadn't."

"Sub-commander T'Pol was told you have dreams that come true."

Cormack stood up straight. Her arms dropped to her sides and her hands balled into fists. She took a step forward, and the door slid shut behind her. She didn't notice. "How the hell does she know that?" she demanded angrily.

"So it's true." Phlox opened the medical scanner, and the diagnostic table slid out.

Lawless sat up and looked around, a wary expression on her face. "I missed something."

Cormack glared at the doctor. "I want to know where Sub-commander T'Pol got her information," she ground out, her jaw tight. She had an idea, but she wanted to hear Phlox say it.

"She didn't say. I assumed you told her yourself."

"I didn't."

Lawless rose slowly, hoping to avoid either Phlox's or Cormack's attention. She sidled over to Cutler. "What's going on?" she asked under her breath. Cutler just shook her head, certain the answer would become evident more quickly than she could explain it.

"I want to know exactly why I'm here," Cormack said, her voice grown suddenly too calm.

Phlox used his most soothing voice to reply. "I'm looking for a correlation between the interference caused by the magnetic ore and the unusual psychic activity experienced during our time at the planet."

"I didn't experience any unusual psychic activity during our time at the planet." Her words were clipped and precise.

Phlox regarded her, trying to remain tolerant. She didn't look well. She didn't really look ill, either—only tired. Frazzled, was the word he'd heard Cutler use when speaking of her bunkmate lately. He wasn't familiar with all its nuances of meaning, but it certainly seemed an accurate description. "You're not required to agree to the scans," he said gently. "I only ask that you do because it may help my and Commander Tucker's research."

Cormack frowned. "Commander Tucker?"

"He's researching the magnetic ore's effects on the ship's systems."

"Yeah. I know."

"And I'm researching the ore's effects on the crew."

"I wasn't there. I never came into contact with any ore."

"Nor did I, but that didn't stop me having a vision of Ensign Cohn while he was trapped on the planet."

Lawless started in surprise. "You saw him?" she asked.

Phlox turned to her, relieved to speak to someone not overtly hostile. "I did, shortly before he and Liz were rescued."

"Well I didn't," interrupted Cormack.

Phlox turned back to meet her angry gaze. "But you did experience a prolonged drop in your body temperature while Liz was trapped," he replied more sharply than usual.

Cutler spoke up, hoping to placate both her C.O. and her bunkmate. "I would have frozen to death down there. Maybe—_maybe_—you picked up on that because the ore in the cave amplified my feelings."

"All right, all right." Cormack stepped forward. She didn't want to hear any more; she just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. "Do what you want so I can go."

Phlox ushered her to the diagnostic table where she laid down, her aversion to the machine obvious without her having to speak it. Once she was inside, Lawless spoke up again.

"Are you done with me?"

"Yes, Ensign. I'm sorry. You're free to go." He smiled at her a little wearily. "Thank you for your cooperation."

* * *

Lieutenant Reed sat up on the diagnostic table and swung his legs over the side. He looked up at the scan results, but the readings meant nothing to him. "I hope you find something you can use," he said.

"I hope so, too," smiled Phlox.

"Is there anything else you need from me?"

"In fact," Phlox said, looking at Reed carefully, "I was wondering if you needed anything from me."

The lieutenant looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Are you sleeping all right?"

"Well enough." Reed had a moment of concern, wondering if somehow Phlox had heard that he and Tucker were actually living together. "Why?"

"You appear frazzled." The Denobulan enjoyed using the new word, and he felt it was as accurate a description of Reed as it was of Cormack. "I expected you to start looking a bit less frazzled once you had your team back to full capacity, but you haven't. I noticed the same problem with Ensign Cormack earlier today," he went on. He appeared to be preoccupied with his scan results, but watched Reed from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction.

"I see," Reed replied. He pressed his lips together until they were a thin, sharp line. "The entire department has been working hard. I suppose it's simply taking time to recover."

"I suppose," said Phlox, "but I'm concerned. Have you experienced any dizziness or headaches lately?"

"An occasional headache," Reed reluctantly admitted.

"Mm-hmm. Faintness? Ringing in the ears? Rapid heartbeat?"

"No to all of the above."

"That's good. Still, I'd like to run a test for anemia, if you have no objection."

"No. None."

"Roll up your sleeve, please. I'll need a small blood sample."

Reed did as instructed while Phlox gathered the equipment he needed. It took only a few moments to collect the sample, and soon Reed was rolling his sleeve back down. He wondered if Phlox had done the same with Cormack, but he didn't ask. It wasn't his business, and he didn't want the doctor to know he was curious. "Is there anything else?"

"No. Thank you for your cooperation." Phlox held up the sealed vial of blood. "I'll let you know what I learn from this."

"Thanks." He doubted Phlox would learn anything other than, perhaps, that his "frazzled" state wasn't medically based. _I wonder if he already knows that._ There was no way to know without asking, and again Reed had no intention of asking.

He stood. "Good evening, then."

"Good evening."

As Reed departed, Phlox watched him out of the corner of his eye once more. He glanced down at the vial, and then called over his shoulder. "Liz?"

The ensign appeared from where she was working at a console just a few steps out of sight. "Yes?"

"Run an anemia test on this for me please." Phlox didn't expect her to find anything, but it would at least rule out an obvious physical reason for Lieutenant Reed's ongoing fatigue.

"Another one?" She took the vial.

"Yes. Do you have the results of the previous test?"

"Yeah. Everything was right on the money."

"Good, good. Thank you."

Liz disappeared again, leaving Phlox alone. He'd found during his time on Earth that anemia was a surprisingly common concern in Starfleet. So many officers and enlisted personnel had the bad habit of working too hard and not taking proper care of themselves. Reed, for one, clearly hadn't been eating properly; he'd lost nearly four kilos over the past month. And he wasn't the only one.

It had been a hassle getting Ensign Cormack to allow Phlox to take a sample of her blood, but learning that she was not anemic was worth it. Of course he'd never really thought she was, any more than he thought Lieutenant Reed was. _I suspect this is a matter more for Doctor Douglas than for me,_ he thought. _If things don't improve soon, I'll speak with him about it._

* * *

Travis looked around the mess hall. He spotted his quarry conveniently seated alone, and headed towards him.

"Hey, Malcolm," he said as he reached him. "Mind if I join you?"

Malcolm looked up from his lunch distractedly. "What? No. Go ahead."

"Am I interrupting anything?" Travis sat, setting down his tray of bacon, scrambled eggs, and orange juice.

"No," repeated Malcolm. "My mind was just wandering."

"That doesn't happen much. Is everything okay?" The helmsman tucked into his breakfast eagerly.

"Fine, yes." Malcolm smiled, although it was somewhat distracted and forced. He'd not spent much time with Travis lately, and he was genuinely pleased for his company. His mind simply wasn't on the moment.

Travis, on the other hand, was there on a mission. He was under instruction from Liz to do some snooping. She was worried about Stephanie. The armory ensign was looking particularly ragged lately, and she was certain it was more than just the switch to Gamma shift that was responsible. For reasons Travis wasn't entirely clear on, Liz was convinced it had something to do with Malcolm. Despite his own doubts, Travis had given in to her coercion. He'd even gotten up early for Beta shift so he had a better chance to catch Malcolm at lunch.

"You been up on the bridge today?" Travis asked between bites.

"No. I've had things to do in the armory."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"I just wondered how Bonnie was doing." At least it was true. Travis wasn't a great liar, and he knew it. Hopefully the approach he'd chosen would distract Malcolm from his real purpose.

Malcolm heard the curiosity in the younger man's voice and decided to tease him a little. "You wondered how she was doing on your shift, you mean."

"Things are sort of weird right now—with the shifts," Travis said, avoiding a direct answer. "I mean, I know it's just my turn to work Beta shift, and it's good because Liz is, too." Malcolm smirked knowingly. Travis flushed. This wasn't what he was here to talk about. He quickly went on. "How's your team doing? Now that you've got everyone back, and everything."

"Everyone's curious about that," Malcolm said dryly, remembering Trip's similar query the previous week and Phlox's comments only yesterday evening.

Travis shrugged, trying to look causal. He'd never heard why Young was temporarily relieved of duty. He had a feeling Hoshi knew what was up, but she'd refused to spill so he'd finally given up asking her. While he still wanted to know, that wasn't his current objective. "I just wondered because I think the extra workload—and now Gamma shift right after it—is getting to Stephanie."

Malcolm tensed imperceptibly. His voice betrayed nothing when he asked, "Why do you say that?"

"I saw her the other evening and she looked tired."

"Tired?"

"Run down," Travis amended. "Liz is a little worried about her, actually. Do you have any idea what's up?"

"No."

"Oh." Travis took a bite of eggs and washed it down with orange juice. "I just figured you might know, since you're her C.O."

"I don't."

"Oh," said Travis again. He fell silent, apparently intent on his breakfast, but actually desperately trying to think of another tactic to gain the information he was after.

Malcolm was glad for the silence, strained though it was. It gave him time to collect himself and his thoughts. Internally, he squirmed. He had lied to Travis, and Travis didn't deserve to be lied to. But the helmsman seemed to have a knack for unknowingly asking uncomfortable questions. _Or perhaps he does know,_ Malcolm thought. Considering it now, it seemed obvious that Travis must know everything. Undoubtedly Stephanie would have told Liz what was wrong, and Liz would surely have told Travis.

_Enough is enough._ Malcolm rose. "Excuse me."

Caught unprepared and with his mouth full, Travis could say and do nothing to stop him.

"It was nice talking to you."

Travis swallowed quickly and called to Malcolm's back, "I'll see you around."

Malcolm gave no indication whether or not he heard him. He simply left the mess hall. He found the nearest computer interface panel and queried it for Stephanie's location.

_Naturally,_ he thought, learning she was in her cabin. He ran another quick query to be certain she was alone. It was one thing to wake her up—it was the middle of Alpha shift, after all—but it would be another thing entirely if he were to interrupt something other than her sleep. _Of course,_ he remembered, _Bonnie's on the bridge._

More confident now, he headed towards her quarters. He hoped she hadn't yet gone to bed. He really didn't want to disturb her, but he knew if he didn't go through with this now he might never do it.

He reached her door and rang the chime immediately, not giving himself the chance to back out here at the last.

There was a pause while he waited. He wondered if he had indeed woken her and that was what was causing the delayed response. Then he experienced a moment of absurd panic, thinking the computer had been incorrect and she was entertaining company.

The door whooshed open, startling him from his thoughts.

"Lieutenant?" Stephanie said in surprise. She shifted on her feet, unexpectedly uncomfortable to be standing in front of her C.O. in her pajamas. _He's seen them before,_ she reminded herself. _And he's the one who came looking for me. He'll just have to deal with what he's found._ She stood up straight. "Is something wrong?"

Keenly aware of the inappropriateness of his request, he asked, "May I come in?"

"I suppose." She stepped back and he entered the cabin, but he stayed near enough to the door that it remained open. Stephanie noticed it, but made no comment.

"I wanted" Malcolm began, and then paused. Travis was right; she looked run down. The lines between her eyebrows were more pronounced than usual, and her eyes were shadowed and tired. Realizing he was staring, he cleared his throat and started again. "I appreciate the extra effort you put into your work while we were shorthanded. Your help was invaluable. You've been doing an outstanding job."

He paused again and Stephanie, taken by surprise and not knowing what else to do, said, "Thanks."

Encouraged, Malcolm took this as a cue to continue. "Perhaps I could come by again at a more convenient time, and we could listen to that Cordelia's Sisters album you mentioned a while back."

Stephanie was pleased, but wary. "I uploaded it to the main computer," she said, and then immediately wished she hadn't.

"I know. I just thought it would be nice to have some company."

"Uh, sure. That'd be cool." She smiled, but the smile was cautious and didn't entirely reach her eyes.

He smiled tentatively back. "Good. I'll leave you be, then. You're obviously" He gestured at her attire.

"Huh?" Stephanie glanced down at herself. She'd been so shocked by the conversation that she'd forgotten she wasn't exactly in uniform. "Oh!" She chuckled a little self-consciously and crossed her arms over her midriff. "Right."

"Good-night, then." Malcolm turned to go.

As he stepped out into the corridor, Stephanie took his place keeping the door open. "I'mglad you stopped by."

Malcolm smiled again and nodded once. "Sleep well."

"Thanks. Bye." She stepped back and let the door close. She stood there for several moments, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't so much the praise that pleased her, although it was most welcome. It was the fact that at last Malcolm had spoken to her not just as a commanding officer, but as a friend.

She frowned suddenly in annoyance. _And where are Bonnie and Mae? On duty where I can't exactly call them and tell them the good news._ She considered the problem briefly before deciding it was okay. She would keep this new development to herself until she and Malcolm had actually spent some down time together. _No point telling them yet. Not while there's a chance it'll fall through. That'd only make things worse._

She turned off the light and climbed into bed. _I'll tell them later. After the fact._

With that thought firmly in her mind, she eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Ari stood a few steps outside the door to Main Engineering. Mae was still inside even though Alpha shift was over. He was waiting for her. It was one of the scariest things he'd ever done.

_What am I doing?_ he asked himself over and over as he stood there.

The door opened, and he jumped slightly. It wasn't Mae. He nodded pleasantly at the crewman who passed him with a puzzled look on his face. _This is nuts. She's not going to be happy I ambushed her._

_What if she goes out another door?_ Ari quickly queried the computer, and then let out a sigh. _She's still in there. But why?_ He grew paranoid. _Does she know I'm here and she's avoiding me?_

_No, no. Then she _would_ go out another door. She's probably just finishing up a project or something. She's responsible that way._ He smiled, and then jumped again as the door whooshed open once more.

This time he was in luck. "Hey!" Ari exclaimed, startling Mae in turn.

"Hey," she replied doubtfully. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"Oh." There was a brief, awkward pause. "I'm here."

"Yeah." Faced with her now, Ari didn't have the faintest idea what to say.

Caught completely unprepared, Mae was equally at a loss. "Yeah."

As they stood there in uncomfortable silence, the door behind Mae opened. A trio of engineering crewmen emerged. They looked at the ensigns curiously as they passed by.

Ari avoided their gazes. "Um Do you want to walk?"

"Sure." Mae didn't really want to, but it was better than standing there. They began to stroll slowly and aimlessly, taking random turns whenever the urge struck them.

Eventually, Ari asked, "How are you?"

"Fine," Mae replied so quickly she practically cut him off. "Fine. You?"

Ari's response was equally hasty. "Good. Thanks."

"Good." There was another short but painfully awkward pause. "So. You're allhealed up, then?" Mae knew it sounded stupid and she mentally kicked herself for it.

"Oh, yeah. Great." Ari was annoyed with himself for his inane reply. Yet he compounded his inanity with more. "Still a twinge or two, but I'm doing really well."

"Good. That's good."

The walked in uneasy silence while Ari wracked his brain for what to say. He was anxious to know whether or not she'd experienced what he'd thought was his own private hallucination, but he didn't want to reveal anything if she hadn't. He was at a loss for how to ask. _I'm a med-tech, not a spy,_ he thought in frustration. Extracting information from unwitting marks wasn't his strong suit. He simply wasn't sneaky by nature.

That wasn't all that held him back. He was afraid to learn the truth because in a small corner of his mind he believed he already knew.

Finally he spoke again. "I haven't seen you much lately."

"Yeah. I've been really busy." _Don't ask what with,_ she thought frantically. If he did, she was screwed. The truth was she hadn't been busy, she'd been avoiding him. But she wasn't about to say so out loud because then Ari was bound to ask why. _ And _then_ what do I tell him? If I admit I freaked out and why, he'll think I'm being ridiculous, or selfish, or just stupid._ Mae knew they needed to talk, but she hadn't reached any conclusions on her own yet. She couldn't discuss her problem with him before solving it for herself. Knowing that Phlox had had a similar vision of Ari when he wasn't actually there only made matters more complex. And she still didn't know if Ari knew about any of it.

"I've missed you," Ari went on, unaware of her perturbation.

Mae was relieved, but still wary. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like seeing you every day."

"Oh. I like that, too."

"Yeah? That's great." Ari smiled briefly, then grew thoughtful. _Say something else. You'll never get anywhere if you keep your mouth shut,_ he chided himself. "How are things in Engineering?"

"Busy." Mae cringed internally at the perpetuated lie.

"Oh yeah. So you said." He wondered how he could turn the topic to his advantage. "So Just routine stuff?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Nothingout of the ordinary, then?"

Mae gave him a puzzled frown. She wondered where he was going with this odd line of questions. Caught up in her own problems, she decided it was just an excuse to keep talking. "Not that I know of."

"Oh. Good." He felt a moment of relief. _Maybe she doesn't know._

A shot of paranoia struck her. "Why? Have you heard something?"

"No," Ari said quickly. "No, nothing."

They turned a corner and found they were once more outside the door to Main Engineering.

"We're back where we started," Mae said.

"Yeah. I guess so."

Another silence fell over the pair.

"Are you hungry?" asked Ari. He felt more confident now that he suspected Mae hadn't witnessed his death-bed declaration of love after all.

"I" She was, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to spend that much time alone with him making awkward conversation. "I was" Mae found she couldn't lie to him any more. "Yeah, I am."

"Do you want to have dinner with me?"

_No,_ her mind said. But she found her mouth had other ideas. "Sure."

They began walking again, this time toward the mess hall.

_Talk to him,_ Mae told herself. _How are you going to know what to do if you don't at least talk to him?_ Before she could stop herself, she said, "So you're really okay?"

"Huh?"

"After how badly you were hurt—you're really okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Good as new." Ari smiled reassuringly.

"But it was close." Now that the words were out there, she couldn't seem to stop more from following.

His smile turned to a small frown. "Yeah. It was."

"You scared the shit out of me, you know."

Ari jumped at her vehement declaration. "I"

Mae stopped walking and turned to glare at him. "I didn't even know you were off the ship until Stephanie told me you were missing. No one knew where you were. The sensors were all screwed up. I don't know how they finally found you. Then I saw you—in sickbay" Her voice caught. She swallowed and went on. "You were a mess. Wired up to all those machines" She shuddered.

Ari waited for her to go on. When it seemed she wouldn't, he decided he'd better say something. "II didn't know."

"Didn't know?" Mae echoed blankly. "What?"

"I didn't know you were so upset."

Mae's eyes went wide. "How could I not be upset?!" she demanded. "You show up out of nowhere, you say you love me, and then you disappear. Then I find out you're MIA on a frozen alien planet. _How could I not be upset?!_"

"I say?" Ari felt cold.

"What?"

"You saw mein Engineering?"

"I _thought_ so." Her tone was accusatory. "But you _weren't there to be seen_."

"Yes, I was."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was."

"No, you weren't!"

"Yes! I was."

His tone was so firm that Mae actually paused in her rant. "What? You?" He nodded, and she fell silent for several seconds. "How? You" Her spinning thoughts landed on what she felt was the most salient point. "You love me?"

Ari took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think so."

Mae was incredulous. "Wait. You _think_ so? What the hell?!"

Ari winced. _Wrong answer! Wrong answer!_ screamed his panicked brain. "I believed it when I said it to you."

"And now?"

"NowI _think_ so." _For God's sake!_ he shouted furiously at himself. _It was wrong before, what the hell makes you think it's right now?!_

"Huh."

Ari froze. He was afraid to ask exactly what that particular 'Huh' meant in this context. He waited in tense silence for her to say something else. After an interminable moment, she did.

"Okay."

He waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming. "Okay?"

She met his worried gaze with unanticipated calm. "Okay. I'm okay with that."

"You are?"

"Are you?"

"I" _Watch it!_ his mind warned him. "am?"

Mae nodded. "Good. So am I." She realized she really was.

When she again failed to go on, Ari couldn't help asking, "You? What about you?"

"Me?" She looked at him. It didn't take a genius to know what he meant. "I'll let you know."

"You'll?" _Am I ever going to complete another coherent sentence?_

"Let you know," she finished for him. "Okay?"

He thought about it before answering carefully, "Okay."

"Good. You ready for dinner?"

"Definitely." He was going to add, 'And a drink,' but two thoughts stopped him: _I'm still on pain meds,_ and, _Don't say it!_ He smiled back at her a little uneasily, and gestured for her to precede him into the mess hall. "After you."

Instead, Mae took his arm in her own. "I like this better."

* * *

Liz poked her head around the wall behind Phlox. "I've finished with my report on those Ice Planet arachnids," she announced, using the name she'd given the frozen world where they'd acquired the spiders.

Phlox looked up from his study of the interference data collected on the same mission. He smiled a little wearily. "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you need tonight? It's just that I'd like to go a little early if that's all right." It was unusual for her to make such a request, and she felt she should explain her reason for asking. "I want to try to catch Stephanie before she goes on Gamma shift."

"You're still concerned about her, I take it."

"Yeah." Liz leaned on the edge of the counter, her hands resting there on either side of her hips. "You saw her the other day. She's nearly burnt out. I'm afraid if things don't improve soon, something bad will happen."

"Hm. I have to agree. But what do you hope to improve?"

Liz looked suddenly sly and a little embarrassed. "WellI actually had Travis working on that." At Phlox's curious look, she went on. "I had him do a little snooping."

"Snooping?" Phlox asked, enjoying another new word.

"Prying, really. I had him go bother Lieutenant Reed. I want to know if he knows what's going on with Stephanie—and if he doesn't, I want to change that."

"Ah! So I'm not alone in thinking there's something going on between the two of them." It was an encouraging discovery—unlike every dead end he'd faced in his research on the magnetic ore.

"More like the lack of something going on. They were friends, and now I don't know what they are. I don't think they know either. Of course not speaking to each other outside of work is probably making it tough to figure out." There was bitterness in her voice on her bunkmate's behalf. "So if it's all right, I'd like to go early."

Phlox smiled again in understanding. "Of course. If it helps them both in the long run, I can certainly do without your assistance for the rest of tonight's shift."

She gave him an appreciative smile in return. "Thanks." She stood. "I'll let you know if I find out anything."

He simply nodded his own thanks, and she left.

Phlox took a moment to enjoy the quiet before turning back to his work. It wasn't long, though, until he reached out and shut off the screen. He'd spent many hours poring over not only the raw data, but all the information Commander Tucker had sent to the sickbay computer and the results of the scans he'd taken of the various crewmembers. Unfortunately he'd come to no more conclusion than the commander and T'Pol had. His recognition of the patterns' similarity to human brain waves seemed pointless now. It had so far led nowhere.

_Not nowhere,_ he reminded himself. _It does _appear_ that the ore was the enabling factor in Ari's psychic projections. And I can think of at least one person who will be pleased to hear that—even if I can't prove or disprove it absolutely. I doubt that will matter to Ensign Young._

His Pyrithian bat chittered, drawing him from his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes and rose, crossing to the bat's cage. "Time to take a break, eh? I think you're right." He continued to talk as he fed first the bat, and then the rest of his menagerie in turn. "A little time away from the problem may be what I need to get a new perspective on it. Then again, it may be that the ore is just as inexplicable as the human mind."

Two years on _Enterprise_, plus the time he'd spent on Earth before that, wasn't nearly enough time to truly understand his human shipmates. Still, he enjoyed the process of learning about them. Every new discovery was fascinating on some level. "I suppose the problem with this data is that I haven't had a new discovery since the first one. It's a little discouraging."

He peered into the tank containing his osmotic eel. "You look hungry. We haven't had anyone in here for you to feed on lately, have we?" The process the eel used to heal wounds was a symbiotic one. In healing, it also fed. That meant that when the crew remained healthy Phlox had to supplement the eel's diet. He fetched a container from a refrigerated unit and used another station to warm it to body temperature. "Here you go." Using an oversized eyedropper, he sucked up liquid from the container and spread a thin layer of it over the eel. The eel squirmed as the stuff sank through its thick skin.

Phlox smiled. "Like that, do you? Well, I don't think seconds would do any harm." He repeated the process, and then closed the tank. As he returned the container of food to the fridge, the sickbay door slipped open and med-tech Northfield entered.

She smiled in greeting. "Good evening, Doctor."

"Good evening," he replied. "Is it that late already?"

"Midnight on the nose," she confirmed.

Normally Phlox was pleased to have company in sickbay. Denobulans were naturally social people who spent little time alone. Tonight was a rare occasion when wished he had the place to himself.

_Ah well,_ he thought. _Any time spent with a friend is time well spent._ If nothing else, it was an opportunity to learn more about humans. There was something he hadn't had a chance to discuss with any female crewmembers, and he was eager to rectify that. Now he could. "Tell me, Emily, how did you enjoy the movie last week?"

* * *

As carefully as he could, Trip rolled over onto his side. Malcolm moved in his sleep next to him, but surprisingly didn't wake. Trip was glad. He didn't want his lover asking what was keeping him up—particularly when it was Malcolm's presence that was to blame for the engineer's restlessness.

_And not in the good way,_ Trip thought. He loved having Malcolm with him every night. He was just tired of the two of them being cramped on a bunk that—while nearly wide enough for them to lie side by side—was really only meant for one person. There just wasn't enough room for Trip to spread out and get comfortable.

In the past it hadn't mattered. On the nights they spent together they would usually exhaust each other enough that sleeping afterwards wasn't a problem. Now that they were living together, even Trip had to admit he wasn't up to having passionate, exhausting sex every single night.

As he lay there, listening to Malcolm's quiet breathing, his mind wandered to the letters they'd recorded to his folks and to Madeline shortly after New Year's. He wondered if they'd been delivered, and then guessed that they had. The letters had been sent while _Enterprise_ was still in range of Echo Three, and plenty of time had passed for them to have cleared both Starfleet and civilian channels.

_Maybe now we've told them that we've moved in together, Malcolm will be willing to put in a requisition for a new bunk._ Malcolm hadn't said it in so many words, but Trip was fairly sure this was what held him back. He could tell his lover wasn't ready for word to get out about their change in living arrangements. It frustrated him in more ways than one. He didn't like keeping secrets.

Feeling too warm, he removed his t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. Again Malcolm shifted, but didn't wake.

_I wonder what Madeline thought when she got her letter,_ Trip pondered. It was a pointless musing. He'd never met her. All he had to go on were Malcolm's rare stories of their childhood, and that wasn't enough even to base a guess on. He couldn't begin to speculate on how she might react. His own parents, though They were another matter.

He'd kept them relatively informed about his life, including his relationship with Malcolm. The letters he'd received from his folks in reply were cautious and encouraging at the same time. His mother was all for whatever made him happy, but she also knew how Trip's heart had been broken more than once when past relationships had fallen apart. Trip's father was pleased that he'd finally gotten smart and fallen for a fellow Starfleet officer. He'd warned his son more times than Trip could count about the problems incurred when a career officer and a civilian tried to make it work. _"It's just asking for trouble,"_ the elder Charles Tucker always said. Trip's own experience had proved his father right. He hoped it was merely coincidence. Though he'd never voiced it to anyone, he harbored a fear that it was his own fault his earlier relationships had failed—not because he was career Starfleet, but because there was something fundamental in him that caused him to screw things up just when they seemed to be going right.

Trip realized sleep was temporarily out of the question; his mind was too noisy for it. He slipped from the bed, and then waited in silence to be certain Malcolm still hadn't woken up. He hadn't. Normally that would have worried Trip, but he knew Malcolm had been working extra shifts despite having his team back to full staff. _He works too hard,_ he thought, taking an indulgent moment to stand there and watch his partner sleep.

Boxer-clad and barefoot, Trip padded across the cabin, picking up his shirt and tossing it into the laundry on his way to the desk. Before Malcolm, he would have simply let it lay there. _Hell, I probably would've worn it again in the morning._ He smiled at the obvious and positive effect Malcolm had had on him.

He sat at the desk. Making sure the screen was angled so its light wouldn't disturb Malcolm, he switched it on. Normally he preferred to video-record his letters, but he settled for typing this one.

_Dear Lizzie,_ he began.

_Sorry I haven't written in a while. Things on _Enterprise_ are pretty busy most of the time, but they're good. We discover something new nearly every day._

He paused and reread what he'd just typed. Trip shook his head, and then deleted the last sentence.

He tried again.

_Malcolm and I are doing really well. Mom and Dad have probably have told you the news. He and I finally moved in together._

He paused again. For some reason he was having trouble deciding what to write. It was weird. Usually he found his little sister easy to talk to. They were nearer to one another in age than either was to the rest of their siblings. Despite the normal childhood feuds, they'd always been close. Trip wondered why he couldn't think of what to say to her. _ It's just easier to record it, I guess._ He often felt more comfortable talking than writing, and apparently that was carrying over to this letter.

Several minutes ticked past while he stared at the few lines on the screen. Giving it up as a lost cause, he deleted the letter. _I'll record one tomorrow,_ he promised himself. _Maybe I'll even get Malcolm to say something._

Still wide awake, he looked around for something he could do to pass the time until his mind was quiet enough to let him sleep. His options were limited, and he finally decided to read a book. Before he left the computer, though, he took a moment to fill out a requisition request for a bigger bed. He didn't send it, but saved it for the moment when Malcolm was finally ready. It was a moment that couldn't come soon enough, in Trip's opinion.

He shut off the screen and stood up. There was a datapad on the nightstand containing Arthur C. Clarke's _The Songs of Distant Earth_. He retrieved it, taking it back to the desk and sitting down once more. He put his feet up and turned on the pad. The light of the screen was just enough to read by, although in his mind he could hear his mother scolding him for reading in the dark. _"It'll make you squint and you'll get lines,"_ she'd told him growing up. He chuckled softly, found his bookmark, and began to read.

  
End Log 2:26  
_Completed 29 Sept 2004  
Updated 13-16 Oct 2004  
Continued in Log 2:27_


	27. Log 2:27

**Log Rhythms: Season Two**  
By DNash

**Standard Disclaimer**: Please see **Log 2:1**.

* * *

**Log 2:27**: (Takes place shortly preceding and during the beginning of _The Expanse_)  
_Rating: R – language, violence_  
**Author's Notes**: My Schrödinger's Cat, Leo, is finding the workload a bit heavy for one lone kitty. So he's found a mate named Leona to help overcome the holy havoc the show played with linear time on this one. Honestly, try to do their math and you'll only end up with a headache. So I've done my own math. I don't recommend trying to figure that out either, by the way. Just trust that it makes a modicum of sense more than TPTB's. Hence, rather than returning home on 24 April 2153 as they so illogically did on the show, that is when the Xindi attack _occurs_ here.  
Ensign Ari Cohn belongs to Squeaky Lightfoot and is used with permission.  
**Huge thanks**: To Squeaky for her insight into Ari, and to Idris for many things—particularly her poker knowledge. ;-)

* * *

"Woo-hoo!" exclaimed Stephanie. She spun in her seat to look over her shoulder at her bunkmate. "Check it out!" 

Liz looked up from the book she was reading, and tucked an errant lock of brown hair behind her ear. "What?"

"Ryn sent me a copy of the Hoolie-gans live album that was recorded last August in Belfast."

"Great!" Liz had turned into an avid fan of the group after hearing just one of their songs.

"And Gemma sent the spring training reports for the entirety of the American League, _plus_ vid footage of Vancouver's Opening Day festivities and game. It's like my birthday all over again!" She grinned broadly.

Liz couldn't resist her friend's smile. "Sounds like you're in for a fun evening."

"I'm in for a few. There's a lot here." Stephanie turned back to the screen, pondering what to open first.

"Wherever will you start?" queried Liz lightly.

Stephanie made a snap decision. "You mind if I play the new Hoolie-gans?"

It was what Liz had hoped. "Not at all."

Stephanie loaded the files. The cabin was suddenly assaulted by the sound of a cheering throng of people that led into wild Irish fiddling. She quickly lowered the volume to a more reasonable level. "Sorry." She shot her bunkmate a sheepish grin. "Malcolm and I were kicking back with the latest Cordelia's Sisters the other night."

Liz looked surprised. "Really? That's good."

"Yeah."

"It's been way too long since you two just hung out," Liz said earnestly.

"Yeah," repeated Stephanie. She left her seat at the desk. Flopping onto her bunk, she rolled onto one side and rested her head on her hand, adjusting her coveralls so they didn't tug uncomfortably. It had taken the better part of a month for Malcolm and her to find that "more convenient time" to get together. It wasn't easy for Stephanie to keep quiet in the meantime. She really wanted to tell her friends, particularly Bonnie, but had resolved to wait until she had something substantial to tell them. "It was nice. Kind of weird, but nice."

"Weird how?" Liz lay down, consciously mirroring her friend's pose.

"I don't know. It had been so long, you know?"

"I know."

Stephanie looked at her, a wry expression on her face. "Yeah, I know you guys were displeased with the situation for quite a while."

Liz didn't have to ask who "you guys" were. She knew. She gave a lopsided shrug. "We're your friends. We didn't like seeing you unhappy."

"It's okay to be unhappy sometimes." _Although I was pretty fed up with it, too,_ Stephanie admitted to herself.

Liz didn't bother to comment. "So things are better between you and Malcolm," she said instead.

"Better, yeah."

"But not perfect."

Stephanie lay on her back so she wouldn't have to meet Liz's gaze. She'd known this conversation would happen as soon as her friends found out she and Malcolm were rebuilding their friendship. That didn't mean she'd been looking forward to it, or that she wanted to have it now. _And I'm going to have it again with Bonnie, and maybe with Mae,_ she thought. Right now, though, she was talking to Liz. She folded her arms behind her head. "Nothing in the universe is perfect," she said.

"That's not an answer."

"You didn't ask a question."

Liz gave an annoyed look that Stephanie didn't see. "So what was weird?" she asked.

"I don't know exactly." Stephanie stared at the ceiling for several moments, thinking. "You know how with some people you can go without seeing them for months or even years, and then when you do see them it's like no time has passed?"

"Sure. I have friends like that back home."

Stephanie turned her head and caught Liz's eye. "This was nothing like that." She rolled back onto her side and again leaned her head on her hand. "Malcolm's not someone who's easy to get to know. It's worth it when you do, but it's not easy. I felt like I was starting from scratch."

"But at least this time you already know it'll be worth the effort," Liz pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm still annoyed that I have to do the work again. I'm lazy by nature. I do my damnedest to do things right the first time because I don't want to do them twice."

"Even if you know the result will be what you want?"

"Irrelevant, unfortunately," Stephanie said, giving a one-shouldered shrug.

"What about _him_?"

"What _about_ him?"

Liz sat up and crossed her legs, prompting Stephanie to sit upright, too. "Isn't he getting to know you again, too?"

"Yeah, but I'm easy to get to know." Stephanie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and let her hands dangle between them.

"You think?"

"Huh? Yeah." Stephanie frowned in puzzlement. "Aren't I easy to get to know?"

Liz cocked her head to one side, thinking of the best way to say what she wanted to say. She wasn't sure she found it, but she gave it a shot. "Eventually."

"What does that mean?"

"It means… The first time we met, you intimidated the hell out of me."

Stephanie was incredulous. She sat up straighter. "I _what_? You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"What did I do that was intimidating?"

"You were in security, for one thing. I'm not proud of it, but I find that intimidating in pretty much anyone."

"That's ridiculous!"

Liz ignored her and went on. "You immediately talked to me as if we'd known each other for years."

"I was friendly," protested Stephanie.

"Yes, but it was disconcerting. Here was someone I'd never met, whom I was likely to be spending the next several years rooming with, who worked in security, talking to me like an old friend." Liz tried to think of a similar situation that Stephanie might relate to. "You know how people who grow up together have sort of their own language? They make references to things that no one else knows about or understands?"

"Sure. My sister and I do that. Hell, Mae and I have known each other long enough that we do that."

"Exactly. You talked like you and I had that sort of connection, but we didn't. I was completely lost for the first three months after we left space dock."

"You didn't seem lost."

"I'm good at smiling and nodding and figuring things out later," Liz replied dryly.

"I had no idea." Stephanie was genuinely amazed. "I'm sorry."

"I got over it. But that's not the point."

"I've lost the point. Tell me what it is."

Liz chuckled. "The point is, you can be overwhelming, and I don't think that's necessarily the best way to draw Malcolm back out of that shell he lives in."

Stephanie thought about it a moment. "You have a point."

"I just made it."

"It's a good point."

"Thank you."

"I think I'll pay Commander Tucker a visit." Stephanie rose and crossed to the computer. She didn't sit down, but slipped a blank datacard into the console.

Liz was brought up short by the non-sequitur. "What?"

"He's a baseball fan. He might like to read the spring training reports."

"We weren't talking about him, baseball, or spring training."

"No. We were talking about me and Malcolm getting to know each other all over again." When the "download complete" light flashed, she popped the card out and turned to face her friend. "And what better way to do that than to spend a little time with his significant other?"

"What better way?" echoed Liz, incredulous. "There are a lot of better ways."

"Yeah, but this is what I'm going to do right now."

"Right now?"

"Right now. Should I leave the music on?"

"Yeah. Thanks. But—"

"I'll be back in time to eat dinner with you guys."

Again Liz knew who she meant, but their dinner plans weren't what concerned her. "Think about this," she cautioned, rising quickly to her feet.

"What's to think? He's a baseball fan. I have baseball news."

"But—"

"See you at dinner." Stephanie slipped out the door.

Liz went after her, calling from the open doorway, "How would you like it if Malcolm went to Bonnie to spy on you?" She was pleased to see Stephanie hesitate. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Stephanie looked back over her shoulder. "No. But I'm not spying. I'm just going to give the Commander a copy of the spring training reports."

"Really?"

"Really."

Liz doubted her sincerity, but chose to let it pass. "Good. I'll see you at dinner."

"Right." Stephanie quickly made her escape into the nearest turbolift.

Liz watched her go before returning to their cabin, shaking her head.

Stephanie rode the lift impatiently. She was annoyed with Liz's accusation because it was partly true. While she didn't intend to "spy" on Malcolm by visiting Trip, that didn't mean she wasn't interested in ingratiating herself with the ship's Chief Engineer. They weren't at odds anymore, but neither were they good friends. They shared a common interest that kept them on friendly terms. _Well, two common interests if you count baseball,_ she thought as she stepped out of the lift onto B-deck.

She reached Trip's cabin and rang the chime. A moment passed before the door opened and she found herself facing Malcolm. He was dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt, and his feet were bare. "Hi," she said, surprised and a bit disconcerted. "I was looking for Commander Tucker."

"Hello," replied Malcolm, made equally ill at ease by her unexpected appearance. "He'll be out in a moment. Come in." He moved out of the way so Stephanie could enter.

She tried not to be obvious, but she couldn't help noticing the state of the cabin. Nothing seemed odd in and of itself—the room was tidy, the bed was made, and nothing appeared out of place. It was the sight of certain items that she knew for a fact she'd seen in Malcolm's quarters that struck her. His books on the Royal Navy's great historic battles, a framed photograph of his sister, and—the most telling—a wall-mounted display case with half a dozen antique firearms had all apparently found homes amongst Trip's things.

It was clear to her that Malcolm had moved in with Trip, and yet she and Malcolm had spent an entire evening together without him ever mentioning it. _Of course, it's not exactly any of my business,_ she told herself.

_Friends share good news,_ another part of her mind argued.

"Would you like to sit down?" Malcolm offered, uncertain what else to do. _Of all the people to come to the door,_ he thought in annoyance. Then he realized, _Of all the people to come to the door, she's probably the least likely to start gossiping about what she's seen._

"No thanks. I won't be here long." She held up the datacard. "I just got some news from home that I thought the Commander would appreciate."

"Oh?

"Yeah."

They stood in awkward silence.

"So…how are you?" Stephanie asked after a moment.

"I'm fine. You?"

"Good."

To the relief of both of them, the door to the lav opened at that moment and Trip emerged. He, too, was clad in loose clothing and he looked even more startled by Stephanie's presence than Malcolm had. "Hey. What's going on?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

"I brought you something." Stephanie held out the datacard, which Trip took and glanced at. There was nothing on it to indicate what it contained. "I remembered you saying you're a Kansas City Royals fans, so when I got the spring training reports for the AL, I thought you'd like a copy."

Trip smiled, genuinely pleased. "Thanks! I'm not a Royals fan these days, but I look forward to reading it."

"You're not?"

"Nope. I'm an Orcas fan."

"You're…? And when did this happen?"

"Over the break, when my little brother became a free agent and was picked up as the Orcas' new third baseman," Trip answered with a satisfied smile.

"Your…?" She wracked her brain. _Who was the Royals' third baseman?_ she puzzled. _Somebody Tucker, presumably,_ she thought back at herself. She tried to imagine the Orcas' announcer going through the Kansas City starting line-up.

Trip watched her thinking and smiled. "You want a hint?"

She eyed him sidelong. "Not if the hint is that his last name is Tucker. Paul!" she exclaimed suddenly.

Trip nodded. "Got it in one."

"He kicks ass! I had no idea he was your brother. Why didn't you ever say? We've needed a decent third baseman since Zapata retired after we won the World Series," she burbled.

"It never came up," answered Trip with a shrug.

"We should get together to watch the Opening Day game! My sister-in-law sent me a copy. Are you free Monday night?"

Malcolm watched the conversation with a mix of pleasure and consternation that he couldn't quite explain even to himself. He didn't want to interrupt them, but neither did he want them to go on chatting and leaving him further and further behind. Not for the first time he wondered if he ought to try harder to appreciate baseball, but he simply couldn't see the attraction of the game. He cleared his throat in the most subtle manner possible.

Trip caught his eye and his hint at the same moment.

Stephanie heard him, too, and realized she'd overstayed her welcome. "I'm sorry," she said, looking from Trip to Malcolm. "You guys are obviously headed to the gym. I should go."

"You don't have to," Malcolm said quickly. He hadn't meant to shoo her out, only find a way to turn the conversation to something he could participate in.

Stephanie shook her head. "I'm going to be late for dinner if I don't. And I've got a stop to make on the way." She smiled at Malcolm and then at Trip. "I'm looking forward to having a fellow Orcas fan around this season. They are woefully lacking on this ship."

"You'll have to bring me up to speed on the rest of the guys. I don't pay much attention to anyone who's not playing on the same team as Paul," Trip admitted.

"I'd be happy to. I'll see you gents later." She headed to the door.

"Monday," Trip reminded her. "I'm free Monday."

"Cool!"

"Thanks again," Trip called after her as she left the cabin.

"See you later," added Malcolm.

Stephanie smiled back at them both. "See you."

The door shut, isolating Trip and Malcolm once more.

"Well," said Malcolm, "that went better than I expected."

Trip crossed to the desk and put the datacard where he wouldn't lose it. "You mean that she thinks we're dressed for the gym, when really—"

"That, too. And you thought I was being hyper-tidy when I made the bed right away." Malcolm looked at him pointedly, and Trip looked coyly contrite in return.

"I shouldn't have doubted you," he said in false penitence.

"No, you shouldn't," agreed Malcolm with only partially feigned austerity. "But I meant that she didn't comment on the fact that you and I are living together."

"You think she figured it out?"

"In less than five seconds, I should say. She is trained to be observant."

Trip approached his lover and faced him. "Is it really so bad?"

"That she knows? I suppose not," admitted Malcolm. "She talks a lot, but she's not a gossip."

"Not Stephanie. Anyone." Trip took Malcolm's hands in his own. "I think it's time we stopped trying to hide the fact that we're living together." Before Malcolm could protest, he went on. "While I agree with you that it's not anyone else's business how we live our lives, I disagree that it's something we need to keep secret."

"What do suggest?"

"For one thing, finally putting in a requisition for a bigger bed." Trip hoped Malcolm would smile at that, but instead he frowned.

"Is there a less…personal way of going public?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Trip released Malcolm's hands and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I mean, imagine what the quartermaster is going to think when he sees that request."

"Who cares? It's not his business to judge, just to fill requests."

"No, but that won't stop him thinking and probably talking. And he'll have to get the Captain's approval on that sort of structural change."

"It's just a bed, Malcolm," said Trip flatly. "Everyone knows we're together, so what difference does it make?"

"I don't want it being the first thing people think about when they see us together!" Malcolm insisted.

Dumbfounded, Trip sat staring at him for several seconds before speaking. "I just want to live our lives together, and you're worried about keeping up appearances."

"I'm not!"

"No?" Trip countered, his frustration clear. "Then explain to me what you _are_ doing, because apparently I'm not figuring it out on my own."

Malcolm took a deep breath. Arguing with his lover was only fun when it was work-related. He tried hard to present his personal arguments as calmly as possible. "I prefer my private life to be private. I don't like the idea of people speculating on it."

"I think," replied Trip, choosing his words carefully, "that most people probably have better things to do with their time than wonder about what you and I do in bed together."

"_Most_ people, I agree. It's the rest that bother me."

"You can't stop people from thinking, and if that's what they happen to think about… Well, just be glad we don't have any of that weird magnetic ore on board making people psychic," joked Trip, hoping to soften their quarrel with a bit of humor.

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. "That's not funny," he said mirthlessly.

Trip rose and again went to stand directly in front of his partner. "I'm just saying you can't let what other people might think stop you from living your life on your own terms."

Malcolm had never thought of it in exactly that way. "Is that what I've been doing?" He wasn't being facetious; he genuinely wanted to know.

"That's what it looks like from here, though I'm not exactly an unbiased observer." Trip waited in well-hidden impatience while Malcolm stood there, mulling it over.

"Perhaps you're right," Malcolm said eventually. He uncrossed his arms—an indication that he was no longer feeling so defensive. "What real harm can come of putting in a request for a new bed?"

"None that I can think of," Trip answered, even though he guessed the question was rhetorical.

"All right. We'll fill out a requisition form and send it tonight."

Trip hesitated only a moment. "I…already have one filled out. I've been saving it for when you were ready."

"I see," Malcolm said, a tiny smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.

Trip noticed and was pleased. It was solid evidence that Malcolm wasn't angry with him. He smiled slyly back. "Just because I wasn't an Eagle Scout doesn't mean I can't be prepared."

"I suppose you're right. Shall we send it now?"

"You're sure?"

"Oh for God's sake, Trip!" exclaimed Malcolm, half in amusement, half in exasperation. "Do it now or I might change my mind just to be contrary."

"Right. Wouldn't want that." Trip moved quickly to the computer, turned on the screen, and sent the requisition form he'd filled out one late night several weeks ago. "Too late to change your mind now." He smiled impishly at his lover.

"I think I can live with that."

"So are you going to watch the ballgame with us on Monday?"

"_That_, I choose not to live with."

Trip laughed. "Let's change clothes and get some dinner. We can celebrate a little."

"That's an excellent idea," smiled Malcolm.

* * *

Not everyone aboard was as pleased with their mail as Cormack. Ian hadn't opened the latest communiqué from his brother even though he'd had ample opportunity to view it without fear of interruption. He was about to put it off again by going to the gym when his bunkmate spoke up. 

"There's still a message waiting for you," Ari said. He was seated at the computer, having just finished recording a letter home. The blinking "message waiting" light had distracted him the entire time.

"I know. I'll check it later." Ian sat on his bunk to pull on his running shoes. He planned to hit the treadmill for a while and then spend a therapeutic half-hour or so pummeling a punching bag.

"It's been sitting here for more than a day."

"Yeah? So?" Ian asked, still focused on his shoes.

"So what if it's from your brother again?"

"It can wait."

Ari frowned and sat back in the desk chair. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Don't you want to know what the message is? Or at least who it's from?"

Ian shrugged. He already knew who it was from, which was why he hadn't opened it. He was sure he didn't want to hear anything Brady had to say to him.

He stood and crossed the small cabin. Opening his locker, he withdrew a tank top and put it on. "You open it if it's bugging you so much."

"It's your mail."

Ian finally looked his bunkmate in the eye. "Read it if you want. I'm going to the gym."

"Ian—" Before Ari could say anything more, Ian left the cabin. Ari rose to follow and then decided against it. He sat back down at the desk and stared at the message light for more than a minute before forcing himself to rise again and walk away. It bothered him irrationally that Ian wouldn't open the communiqué, but he couldn't bring himself to open it in his stead. Despite Ian's suggestion that he read it, Ari felt it would be an invasion of his friend's privacy.

He had to get out of the cabin and stop thinking about it.

Ari opened a comm line and almost hailed Mae. He remembered in time that she was having a "girls' night" with Liz and some of the others, so he hailed Travis instead.

"Mayweather here," came the reply.

"Hey, Travis," Ari said. "I'm going to get some dinner. You want to join me?"

"Sounds good. When?"

"Now?"

There was a brief pause. "Sure. I'll see you in the mess hall."

"See you there."

Ari closed the line, took one last look at the blinking light on the computer, and left the room.

* * *

After they'd eaten dinner, Hoshi, Stephanie, Bonnie, Liz, and Mae moved to the Rec. Center and claimed a large, round table. Each woman had a drink in front of her and was clearly ready for a long evening. 

Stephanie looked at Hoshi, who sat on her right. "You did bring the cards, I trust," she said.

"Of course," Hoshi answered. She pulled a deck from a pocket of her coveralls, opened the box, and began to shuffle the cards. "I trust you brought the 'chips'."

"Of course." Stephanie grinned and produced a bag of candy-coated chocolates. "I didn't have time to sort everyone's stake, though."

"She was too busy spying on Lieutenant Reed," explained Liz too casually. She was only partly serious, but that part wanted to know what her friends thought about the subject.

The others looked at Stephanie with varying degrees of curiosity. Stephanie looked at her bunkmate in irritation. While the charge of spying was marginally true, she didn't intend to admit it and she didn't care to have her actions scrutinized by everyone. "Spread rumors much?" She began to count out the candies into five equal piles.

Mae reached across the table and snagged the bag from her hands. "Go on," she said, taking over the counting. Before Stephanie's arrival at dinner that evening, Liz had told them about her off-duty evening with Malcolm. Mae was curious about what had transpired, but this news interested her even more.

Stephanie shot an aggravated look Mae's way, and then glanced at the others for a reprieve. She could see she wouldn't get one. Bonnie clearly wasn't going to let the subject go until she knew what was up. Her eyes held a certain intensity Stephanie knew well. There was no getting off the hook there, so she sucked it up and gave her side of the story. "I got a bunch of baseball news from my sister-in-law, and I thought Commander Tucker would like to see some of it. So I took a copy over to him."

"That's why you were a little late for dinner," said Bonnie, putting two and two together.

"Right."

Hoshi began dealing. "Five card draw. Nothing wild." She was privy to some of the details of the turbulent friendship between Malcolm and Stephanie. She wasn't close enough to either of them to know everything, and she didn't care to. But she was honest enough with herself to admit to some curiosity. "How does that constitute spying on Lieutenant Reed?"

"It doesn't," Stephanie said, looking pointedly at Liz. She hadn't told any of them that she'd found not only Trip, but Malcolm as well when she'd gone to the Commander's quarters. "As Liz reminded me, I wouldn't appreciate someone snooping around my business." She reached an arm around Bonnie and pulled her close enough to kiss her cheek. Bonnie didn't resist, but Stephanie could tell she wasn't entirely thrilled. Stephanie assumed it was because of her alleged spying. _I've got to thank Liz properly later,_ she thought sarcastically.

Hoshi finished dealing out five cards to each player, and then set the remaining stack before her on the table.

Mae pushed a pile of chocolates towards each of them before pulling her own to the right of her cards. "Ante up."

Stephanie released Bonnie, and they all claimed their stakes and cards. Each woman put in two candies and picked up her cards, rearranging her hand as she saw fit.

Bonnie was a bit irked with Stephanie, but kept it to herself for the moment. _Why didn't she tell me she and Malcolm finally spent some down time together?_ she thought for the twentieth time since Liz had told them. _Why did I have to hear it second-hand?_ She kept her eyes studiously on her cards as she asked, "So what did you find out?"

Stephanie knew she was referring to her so-called spying, but she wouldn't bite. "I found out Commander Tucker is no longer a Royals fan. I open with two." She tossed two small candies into the pot.

"Royals?" asked Hoshi. She didn't follow baseball.

"I'm in. Kansas City," Bonnie answered, adding her own two. Between Mae and Stephanie, she had no choice but to become educated about major league baseball. Ignorance of either league was not an option.

Liz added her bet next. "Raise three." She put a peanut-shaped candy into the pot. "And Lieutenant Reed?" she inquired, ironically still concerned that Stephanie was sticking her nose in where it didn't belong.

"Still not a fan of any team as far as I know," replied Stephanie, as Mae and Hoshi each tossed a peanut-shaped fiver into the small pile in the middle of the table. "I call." She added her own three to match the current bet, as did Bonnie. As soon as Bonnie had placed her bet, Stephanie said, "I'll take one." She discarded one card, and Hoshi dealt her a replacement. She picked it up and placed it carefully in with her other cards.

The round proceeded around the table. Bonnie traded in two cards, as did Liz. Mae took one.

"Dealer takes three," Hoshi said, discarding three and dealing herself new cards.

Several moments passed while the women again arranged their cards in their hands and studied their options.

"I'll start with three." Stephanie put in the corresponding candies.

"I see your three, and raise two more," Bonnie said, suiting action to words by adding a peanut-shaped chocolate.

"I'm out." Liz folded and sat back to watch the rest of the hand.

Mae contemplated her cards before responding. "Your five, and two more."

"I fold." Hoshi laid her cards face down on the table.

"Me, too," said Stephanie.

Bonnie looked across the table at her bunkmate. "You and me, baby. I'll see your two and raise three." Corresponding candies landed in the pot.

Mae kept her cool. "Your three, and another five."

"Your five, and five more," Bonnie replied with equal calm.

Not wanting to press her luck too early in the evening, Mae said, "I'll call," and matched the bet. "What've you got?"

"Three of a kind." Bonnie laid out her cards.

Mae shook her head in defeat. "Damn. Beats my two pair," she conceded.

Bonnie happily pulled the pile of candies towards her as Hoshi collected the cards and passed the deck to Stephanie for the next hand. "So," Bonnie said, arranging her "chips" for the next round, "tell us more about this baseball news."

This was a conversation Stephanie could get into. She shuffled as she spoke. "To begin with, there was a buttload of spring training reports."

"Is that a metric or imperial buttload?" quipped Mae.

"Metric," answered Stephanie with a smirk. Mae gave a low whistle of mock awe.

"What else did you get?" Bonnie wanted to know. She didn't have a specific direction for her questioning, but she held a hope that somehow it would lead to Stephanie telling her what Liz already had. Bonnie was having a hard time getting past the fact that Stephanie hadn't yet shared that information with her. _I should let it go,_ she told herself firmly. _But I'm not going to. Why would she keep it a secret?_

"Oh! The best bit!" Stephanie grinned, practically bouncing with glee. "Full video coverage of the Orcas' Opening Day game and related festivities," she announced as if it were the most monumental thing imaginable.

She handed the shuffled deck to Hoshi to cut. "I don't understand how you can be so excited about a game that was played two weeks ago," Hoshi said.

"Three," Stephanie corrected her, and reclaimed the deck. "Five card draw again. This time Jacks are wild." She started dealing.

"That just strengthens my point," Hoshi continued. "The game was won or lost three weeks ago. There's nothing you can do to affect the outcome, so why get so excited?"

"Because it's _baseball_."

"Don't try to understand," Bonnie advised. Living with a Giants fan and dating an Orcas fan had taught her much. "Just give in and let it take you."

Stephanie and Mae both laughed at her grave tone.

Bonnie leaned in and spoke to Liz and Hoshi in a faux conspiratorial voice. "They think I'm kidding." She nodded towards the others.

"No, we don't," Stephanie assured her, still chuckling. "That's why we're laughing."

Bonnie sat back again. "So when are we watching, and who did they play?" There was no point assuming she wouldn't be watching the game at some point. Certainly Stephanie didn't require it, but Bonnie was inexorably being drawn into the fandom and she didn't really mind. It was something she could share with her lover, and the more things they shared, the better as far as she was concerned. _So why didn't she share that she and Malcolm spent an evening hanging out together?_

"We opened against Oakland, and we're watching Monday if that works for you," Stephanie answered.

"That's fine."

"Good. That works for Commander Tucker, too."

"Commander Tucker?" Bonnie eyed Stephanie curiously.

"Are we playing?" Hoshi prompted, indicating the table and the stalled poker game.

"Sorry," said Stephanie. She and the others anted up and picked up their cards. "I told you he's not a Royals fan anymore."

"Bonnie, you have the opening bet," Hoshi said.

"That makes him an Orcas fan?" asked Mae.

Bonnie tossed two small candies into the center of the table. "Opening with two."

"Or an Oakland fan?" put in Liz. She glanced at her bunkmate over her cards. "You said Oakland opened against Vancouver, right?"

Mae was firm. "He's _not_ an Oakland fan."

Despite herself, Hoshi asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because if he is, we're going to have words," explained Mae, a San Francisco native who held no love for her team's interleague rival across the bay. "And that wouldn't be good for my career."

Stephanie looked across the table at her. "You needn't fear for your career. The Commander's an Orcas fan these days."

Liz put in two, as did Mae. "How did that happen?" the engineer asked indignantly. She was a firm believer that once you were a fan of a particular team, you stayed that way.

"His brother got picked up by the Orcas in the off-season."

Hoshi put in two and looked at Stephanie expectantly. "We are here to play poker, right?" she asked pointedly.

"We are," agreed Stephanie. "Two and five more." She added the appropriate candies to the pot.

The others eyed her in surprise. "Bold move," commented Bonnie.

"If you say so," Stephanie replied enigmatically.

Bonnie shook her head. "Fine. I call." She added her own five to the pot and looked at Liz expectantly.

"Call," Liz said, placing her bet.

"Fold." Mae laid down her cards.

"I'm in." Hoshi selected a peanut-shaped candy and tossed it in.

"Two, please," Bonnie requested from the dealer.

Stephanie dealt them to her and then looked at Liz. Liz stared hard back at her as she asked for a single card. Hoshi took two.

"Dealer takes three," Stephanie said evenly.

"What?" demanded Liz.

Stephanie just looked at her blandly and dealt herself three cards to replace the ones she removed from her hand.

"I start with three," said Bonnie, beginning the next round.

Liz eyed Stephanie carefully. "Three and five more." Candies clicked as she placed her bet.

"I'm out," Hoshi announced.

Stephanie eyed the pile. "Eight," she said thoughtfully. "And seven more." Peanut- and almond-shaped candies joined the pile.

"I fold," Bonnie replied promptly. She was less interested in the hand than the conversation anyway. She had a feeling she wasn't going to win many more hands that night, and there was no point in sacrificing her chocolates for a lost cause. Also, she had a feeling that Stephanie had deliberately derailed the conversation with her wild bet. _What's she hiding?_ Bonnie wondered. _Besides what I already know she's hiding,_ her mind added.

Liz's eyes narrowed. She suspected her bunkmate was bluffing, but wasn't yet certain. "Your seven and five more." An almond and two plain candies joined the growing pile.

Hoshi looked from Liz to Stephanie, wondering if it was already time for a little play-by-play announcing. They certainly looked intent enough, but it was still early in the evening. Usually Ho-ho McSwirl and Cupcake O'Fudge didn't come out to commentate until much later.

"I see your five," Stephanie said blandly, pushing a peanut-shaped chocolate forward. "Oh, and I raise another ten." She smiled as she followed the peanut with an almond.

"You are bluffing," Liz decided. Candies clicked into the pile. "I call. Show 'em."

Stephanie announced her cards as she laid them down. "A pair of sixes and a pair of nines."

"You bet all that on two pair?" Bonnie was incredulous. "Blowing that much chocolate is downright criminal."

"Oh, did I forget to mention this wild Jack that looks an awful lot like another nine to me?" Stephanie placed her final card face-up on the table, and then looked at Liz too innocently.

Liz laid down her own cards, conceding the hand. "Your luck can't last all night."

Stephanie chuckled wickedly. "You don't think so?" she asked, claiming her winnings. She didn't care if it was her only winning hand of the night as long as they stopped asking about Trip or Malcolm. She didn't mind discussing baseball, but any talk about the men was bound to lead Liz back to her allegations of spying. Stephanie had no desire to discuss that. She'd been fortunate enough in her cards this time to distract the others, as well as win a nice little pile of chocolates. She hoped her luck would hold, in that way at least.

* * *

It was late when the poker game finally broke up. The women collected their "chips" and Hoshi packed up the cards for next time. 

"I'll clean up the rest of this," Stephanie offered, indicating the various empty glasses and the small plate Liz had used earlier to collect a pile of cookies from the mess hall.

"Sure," Mae answered at the same time Liz said, "Okay."

"I won't argue," put in Hoshi.

Stephanie chuckled at their ready replies. She looked at Bonnie. "Wait for me?"

"Sure," said Bonnie.

They all collected their winnings and said their good-nights.

Once the others had gone, the Rec. Center was empty except for Stephanie and Bonnie. Stephanie began to gather up the dishes. Bonnie sat and watched her, munching on what little chocolate she had left after a losing evening.

"That was fun," Stephanie said as she carried all the dishes to the bussing station in one corner of the room.

"Yeah, although you would say that, having won most of the chocolate."

Although her back was to her, Bonnie could hear the smile in Stephanie's voice as she replied, "I'll share with you. You only have to ask." Stephanie returned to the table and looked down at her lover who still sat nibbling. "Ready to go?"

Bonnie hesitated. "Not quite."

"Want to finish those first, eh?" Stephanie teased, smiling. She sat down and gathered her own candies into a bag.

"No," said Bonnie. She continued to munch on her dwindling chocolates as she considered what she wanted to say. "I wanted a little time alone with you, and I know I'm not going to get that after we leave here. At least not tonight."

"Yeah. You know, Liz is a great roommate, but part of me really wonders why she hasn't just moved in with Travis by now. Chocolate?" She held out the bag.

"No, thanks."

A silence fell, and Stephanie began to wonder if something was wrong. It wasn't like Bonnie to be so reticent. "Is everything okay?" she asked. "You seem…quiet."

Taking the cue, Bonnie dove in with both feet. "Have you seen much of Malcolm lately?"

"I have actually," Stephanie answered, oblivious to Bonnie's slightly challenging tone. She smiled. "I meant to tell you, but I kept forgetting. He came over a few nights ago and we listened to the latest Cordelia's Sisters. Cool, eh?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is." Stephanie finally registered her lover's tone of voice. She frowned in a mix of confusion and annoyance. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"I am. I just wondered when you were going to tell me."

"You—? Huh?"

"Liz mentioned it before you got to dinner tonight. Why didn't you tell me?" Bonnie asked.

"I said, I kept forgetting," answered Stephanie a little defensively. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Clearly not. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I'm not sure why you're so upset about it."

Bonnie took a breath and let it out, obviously calming herself down. Her red-headed temper was getting the better of her, and she did her best to rein it in. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've been really worried about you. You might have told me right away when something good happened."

Stephanie's own thoughts came back to her. _Friends share good news._ "You're right. I'm sorry." This time her apology was entirely genuine. She reached out a hand and took Bonnie's with it. "Let's go for a walk. I'll tell you all about it."

"Okay." They rose. "Don't forget the chocolate," Bonnie said.

Stephanie laughed and picked up the bag. "You want to carry it?"

"Not yet. If I'm carrying it, I'm eating it, and that takes two hands. I'm not ready to let go of your hand just yet."

"Well when you're ready, I'll have the chocolate right here. Although you might want to save some for the baseball game."

"Wait until Monday? You know me better than that," quipped Bonnie, grinning.

Stephanie laughed again. "You're right. I'll make sure to have more by then."

"That's a good idea."

They left the Rec. Center hand-in-hand. "So," said Stephanie, as they strolled along corridors that were dimly lit for the night, "you were worried about me?"

"Yeah."

Stephanie smiled and leaned her head briefly on her lover's shoulder. "Is it wrong that I think that's sweet?"

Bonnie gave her a tender smile. "No. But that doesn't mean you have my permission go off the deep end any time soon."

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

"This feels strange." 

"Strange?"

"Odd."

"Odd how?"

"We're dressed in civvies, and we're going to spend the evening in a superior officer's cabin. That doesn't strike you as odd?"

The weekend had passed quickly, and for once Stephanie was glad. It meant she didn't have to wait any longer to watch her beloved Orcas. She looked at her lover as they walked along one of _Enterprise_'s E-deck corridors on their way to Trip and Malcolm's cabin. "I once spent three nights sleeping in Malcolm's bed. This is nothing."

Bonnie stopped short. "You…? What?!"

Stephanie laughed. "We were sick. Phlox confined us to Malcolm's quarters until we weren't contagious anymore."

"So you naturally slept in his bed?" challenged Bonnie.

"Malcolm was far too gentlemanly to let me sleep on the floor." She didn't add that she in turn had been too polite to make him sleep on the floor of his own cabin, and so they'd shared the bunk.

"Huh. Okay." They began walking again. "That's okay then."

"Jealous?" Stephanie asked in a lightly teasing tone.

"No."

"Liar."

"Yeah, but I'll get over it. I still think this is strange, though."

They reached the turbolift and stepped inside.

"It'll be fine. Think of it this way," Stephanie suggested as they ascended to B-deck, "you won't be the only one asking questions about what's going on and who everyone is."

"While that sounds encouraging, all it really means is that you have a larger audience to show off your frighteningly encyclopedic knowledge to."

Stephanie just laughed again. "At least you can console yourself with chocolate." Grinning, she held up the bag she carried and shook it, making the candy-coated chocolates inside rattle against each other invitingly. Bonnie couldn't help but smile back at her. Stephanie was glad. The fact was that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the evening's plan, either. Not for the first time she thought, _I hope Malcolm's there, too._ Even considering the still shaky ground of her friendship with Malcolm, she would feel more comfortable if he were there. She and Trip got along fine, but they weren't what she'd call friends. They didn't know each other well enough for that, despite one or two mutually held confidences. _Where else is he going to go?_ she wondered. _It's not like he has his own cabin anymore. Unless he kept that too? Gods, I hate not knowing what's going on in my friends' lives!_

She and Bonnie reached their destination and discovered that Trip wasn't the only one waiting for them. Much to Stephanie's relief and pleasure, Malcolm answered the door when they rang the chime.

"I hope you don't mind my joining you," said Malcolm as he let the women into the cabin. "I decided to give this baseball thing another try." In truth he had decided it was better to spend the evening with friends than alone—even if it meant watching baseball.

"Of course not!" exclaimed Stephanie. "I see you've even donned the traditional ocean blue for the Orcas. Very nice."

Malcolm looked down at his shirt. He'd only chosen it because it was comfortable and he knew Trip liked it on him. He'd had no idea it related to the ball club. "Naturally," he covered, smiling.

Trip piped up, "He had a helluva time deciding between us and… Who was it? James Joyce?"

"Don't you disrespect James Joyce," advised Stephanie. "He got me through grade eleven English. Well, him and Jack Daniels."

"Actually," Malcolm said, "it was D.H. Lawrence."

"In that case, diss away. I can't stand that man. Here." She pulled a datacard from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to Trip. "It's the only file on the card."

Trip took the card and slipped it into the computer. "Have a seat," he offered. The bed had been transformed into a makeshift sofa through the use of ample pillows piled against the bulkhead.

"Thanks." Stephanie settled herself in and motioned for Bonnie to join her.

Not wanting to be pressed into the middle between her lover and either of the men, Bonnie sat next to her at the foot of the bed. She felt out of her element. She'd never been in the Commander's quarters, and had never expected to be. She wasn't sure how to behave, and Stephanie's apparent comfort only made her own discomfort more acute. She looked around the cabin, trying to find something to say that wasn't inappropriate or awkward. Her eyes skimmed over a photo of Trip's parents—the sliver-haired woman in the picture resembled him too closely for it to be anyone else. Next to that was a framed photo of a young blonde woman with kind blue eyes. Continuing to scan the room, she noticed a wall-mounted display case containing half a dozen old handguns. Bonnie thought that was a bit odd, until she noticed the antique diving helmet. _That's just weird,_ she thought. Desperate to find something to say, she moved on. Finally her gaze landed on the computer. "Nice," she said. "Do all the command staff get such big screens?"

"It's not standard issue," Trip admitted. "Malcolm and I like to watch a lot of movies, so I upgraded the monitor. It's one of the lesser known side benefits of being an engineer."

"If that's all it takes, I'm going to make Mae do the same for our computer."

"I should have said _Chief_ Engineer," Trip corrected himself, giving her a lighthearted smirk. He opened up the file and quickly took a seat on the bunk. "Malcolm? You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Malcolm gamely replied.

Trip shifted to one side so the only place for Malcolm to sit was between him and Stephanie. He was pleased Malcolm had agreed to join them for the game. Trip was always happy for his company, and this time he was also glad that whatever problem Malcolm and Stephanie had had seemed to be resolved. _Or at least it's getting resolved,_ he thought.

They all settled in as the video file began to play.

* * *

Ari paced the cabin, impatient and anxious. A part of him really wanted his bunkmate to walk though the door at that moment, while another quietly dreaded the conversation that would promptly ensue. Ari had hoped that when Ian returned to active duty things would improve, but instead they'd only gotten stranger. The two hadn't talked much, and that worried Ari. He was no counselor, but he knew Ian well enough to know that something was still bothering him. Ari needed to know what it was. 

As he paced, his eye caught the "message waiting" light that continued to blink as it had for three days. He'd tried putting tape over it, but he still knew it was there, blinking incessantly behind the sticky cover. Finally he'd given up and removed the tape. Now, instead of studiously ignoring the light, he looked at if for several moments. Ian had told him to open it, to read it, but Ari couldn't bring himself to invade his friend's privacy that way. He wondered if he'd made the right decision. _Maybe I _should_ read it. Then maybe I'd know what's going on._ But he didn't do it. Instead, he sat down at the desk and downloaded a book that he'd read half a dozen times to a datapad. He needed something to distract him from fretting about what he was going to say when Ian got back. When the download was complete, he rose again. Taking the pad over to his bunk, he stretched out and started to read.

Two chapters later, the cabin door opened and Ian entered. He glanced at his bunkmate, but said nothing as he headed to his locker.

"Hey," Ari said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bunk so he could face Ian directly.

"Hey," replied Ian. "Don't let me interrupt." He gestured toward the datapad in Ari's hand and then opened his locker, blocking his bunkmate from view.

"You're not interrupting." Ari set down the pad. This was why he'd chosen a book he already knew well—so he could put it aside at a moment's notice. "I was waiting for you. We need to talk."

Ian grimaced behind the door of his locker. He'd wondered when this would happen, when Ari would confront him. He was too smart to think it would never happen. "Uh-huh. This is about why I still haven't opened the letter from Brady," he said bluntly. He tossed his boots into the corner of the room and removed his coveralls.

"Is the letter from Brady?"

"Who the hell else would it be from?" Leaving his coveralls in a heap on his bunk, Ian went into the lav, shutting the door behind him.

Ari waited patiently for him to emerge. The moment he did, Ari asked, "Don't you want to know what he has to say?"

Ian continued to avoid Ari's gaze as he finished undressing and donned a pair of workout pants and a black t-shirt. "He's already told me Mom's dead. What else could he possibly have to say to me?" he concluded as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

"Geez! That's a hell of a thing to say!" exclaimed Ari, surprised at his friend's cold reply.

Finally Ian looked his bunkmate in the eye. "What do you want from me, Ari? My brother and I don't talk. It took Mom's death to get him to send me a message at all. I have no interest in anything else he has to say. If it matters so much to you, _you_ open it. I told you to days ago."

"It's _your_ letter."

"Then why do you care so much about it?"

Ari didn't have a simple answer to that. He only knew that he was convinced that Ian needed to see whatever was in that letter. He tried another tactic. "Maybe this time there's something good to say."

"Optimist."

Ari grew defensive. "You say that like it's an insult. There's nothing wrong with looking for a bright side to a bad situation."

"Is that what you were doing when you projected yourself into the shuttlepod to say good-bye? Looking on the bright side?" It was a low blow, and Ian almost regretted it. But the hurt look on Ari's face only reinforced his anger. He stood his ground.

"That was different," Ari said, trying hard to keep his tone cool and even. "I was dying."

"And my mom is already dead. Period. The end. Another letter from by big brother…" He used the term with a special spite and bitterness. "…isn't going to change that. She's dead and buried and I wasn't even there for the eulogy."

All of a sudden everything clicked in Ari's mind. "That's the problem, isn't it? You feel guilty because you weren't there."

"Don't be stupid," said Ian dismissively, but he no longer held his bunkmate's gaze.

"I'm not. I think I'm right."

"I don't do guilt."

"Bull!" Ari shot back. "You feel guilty that you never lived up to your father's expectations. You feel guilty that you weren't there for your mom. And you feel guilty because you hate your brother."

"What do you know about it? You don't know shit about any of it!" spat Ian furiously. His jaw tensed in anger and the muscle under his left eye twitched. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"The hell I don't!" Ari rose, his patience with his friend finally pushed past the breaking point. "I don't have to be the Ship's Counselor to figure it out. _I know you._"

"You don't know jack shit!"

"Oh. So the night you spent crying on my shoulder about your father was all what? A lie? An act? I don't think you're that good an actor or a liar. Or wait," Ari said as if suddenly struck with epiphany. "Maybe I dreamed it all."

"Shut up." Ian's tone was cold, his grey eyes as hard as granite.

Ari was too wound up in his own anger to recognize the danger. "You know, I don't expect you to tell me everything, but don't try to feed me this bullshit. I deserve more respect than that."

Ian couldn't believe his ears. "You _deserve_…? Fuck you!" Without warning, he swung a vicious right hook at his friend.

Ian's fist connected with Ari's jaw and Ari tasted blood. He took a step back as shock, anger, and disbelief wrestled within him. Anger won. He punched Ian hard in the gut.

Ian grunted and swung again, this time catching Ari just under his left eye. Ari's head swam. He had only a split second to register the wild fury in Ian's eyes before Ian dove at him, tackling him backwards onto his bunk. Ari landed with a grunt as his breath was knocked out of him.

Ian was a well-trained fighter and outweighed his bunkmate by several kilos. He used both to his advantage. Cursing Ari over and over, Ian pinned him to the bunk and pummeled him frenetically.

Ari struggled against Ian's weight. "Ian, stop!" he gasped, still fighting to regain his breath. He managed to free one arm. He struck out blindly and felt his fist connect with something hard. He guessed it was Ian's head, but in the chaos he couldn't be sure. "Stop! Get off!"

Ian stopped. Whether it was Ari's plea, or the blow to Ian's head, or whether Ian came to his senses on his own, neither of them knew. He released Ari and backed away until he ran into a wall and could go no farther.

"Jesus Christ," Ian panted, horrified. "Jesus Christ! Ari? Buddy, are you all right?" Frantic and afraid, he wanted to go to his friend, but at the same time he was terrified to touch him. "I'm so sorry! Jesus! Say something, man. Please!!"

Ari took a shaky breath, wondering if his ribs were cracked for the second time in as many months. He didn't move. "You…bastard."

Relief washed over Ian. "Thank God! Ari, I'm so sorry, buddy. Are you okay?"

"No. I'm not." Ari used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe blood from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Already he could feel his left eye swelling shut. He knew his jaw wasn't broken because he could still speak, but it would take a medical scan to find out about his ribs. He sat up gingerly and with one eye he glared at Ian, who was as far away as he could be without being outside the room.

Ian moved towards him, and Ari flinched involuntarily. Ian froze. "Oh Jesus," he said again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shut up."

"What can I do?" pleaded Ian, desperate to fix the terrible mess he'd made. "Tell me what to do." Again he moved forward, but Ari held up a hand to keep him back.

"Don't touch me. Get me a damp cloth and the first-aid kit from the lav."

Ian fetched both. He held out the damp washcloth, which Ari took and used to wipe more of the blood from his mouth and nose. "Tell me what to do," Ian said again.

"Give me the hypo with the pain killer, and the one with the anti-inflammatory."

Ian did as told, waiting several steps away as Ari injected himself with the medications.

The meds brought welcome relief, but they weren't a solution. "Cold pack," Ari ordered. Ian pulled the pack from the first-aid kit, squeezed it to release the chemicals that instantly chilled it, and then handed it over. Ari set aside the cloth and gingerly pressed the cold pack against the left side of his face. He closed his right eye.

He was still and silent for so long that Ian grew scared again. "Ari?" he asked in a small voice.

"What?" Ari replied sharply.

"What are you going to do?"

Ari opened his good eye and looked at him. "I'm going to go to sickbay."

Ian hesitated. "And then?"

"What do you want me to say, Ian?"

"I… I don't know."

"I don't know either, Ian. So just shut up."

Ian fell silent once more. He watched Ari, who continued to sit there with the cold pack to his face. He wanted to help, to make everything okay again, but he didn't know how. _I fucked up,_ he thought when he could think again. _Oh God, I fucked up._

Eventually, Ari rose carefully to his feet. The pain had receded enough that he felt he could make the walk to sickbay.

Ian risked another quiet question. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Oh, you're coming with me," Ari immediately confirmed. "You're going to be there to help me explain this to Phlox."

"Right." Ian went to the door and opened it.

"Move," said Ari.

Ian obediently preceded him out, and they made their way to sickbay.

* * *

The door closed, and Trip and Malcolm were once more alone in the cabin. Trip asked his lover lightly, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"No," Malcolm admitted.

"Better than D.H. Lawrence?" Trip smiled playfully.

Malcolm pretended to think it over. "I'm not sure…"

Trip laughed. "Don't let Stephanie hear you say that. She has some definite opinions on that subject."

"She certainly does," chuckled Malcolm. "I never thought I'd hear such an impassioned literary argument again as long as I lived."

"Again?" Trip asked in shock. "When did you ever hear one before?"

"It happened a lot at university."

"Sounds like you and your friends needed a better hobby."

Malcolm chuckled again, this time wryly. "It was during literature classes," he clarified.

"I suppose that makes it okay, then," conceded Trip. He began to collect up the empty soda and beer mugs, placing them in a bin that he would return to the galley in the morning. He wasn't sure how his next statement would go over, but he decided to risk it. "It's good to see you two talking again." It had bothered him for some time that Malcolm and Stephanie had stopped speaking to one another outside of work. _He's got few enough close friends on this ship. I don't want him losing one of them,_ he thought. When Trip stopped to consider it, he recognized the irony of his feelings. Since his initial negative reaction to Malcolm and Stephanie's friendship, he'd done a complete about-face. Now he was glad his lover had someone besides himself to confide in or even just to hang out with. Sometimes it was hard for Trip to remember that not everyone made friends as easily as he did, particularly Malcolm.

Trip realized that several seconds had passed in silence. He looked over at Malcolm, who was methodically removing the extra pillows from the bunk and piling them in a corner out of the way. _Damn,_ Trip thought. _Just like me to stick my foot in it and spoil a great evening._

But as Trip berated himself, Malcolm was thinking, too.

_He's right. It _is_ nice to talk to her again._ He knew he'd missed having her company, but the extent to which he'd missed it hadn't come home to him until tonight. Her enthusiasm for her baseball team had been infectious, and he'd found himself actually enjoying the game. And, although he couldn't remember now how the subject had come up, her argument about the value of D.H. Lawrence's writings versus those of James Joyce had been zealous enough that they'd actually paused the game so that she and Malcolm could debate the matter.

"I hope we didn't bore you too much with our arguing," Malcolm said suddenly. He'd cleared the bed of extra pillows and now sat on the edge of it.

Startled from his fretful musings, Trip was momentarily stymied. "Huh? No."

"Are you sure?" There was a teasing tone in Malcolm's voice as he went on. "There was no mention of science fiction or superheroes. I was afraid you might have gotten bored."

Trip grinned at the friendly dig. He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nope. If you can handle watching an occasional baseball game, I can handle listening to you and Stephanie arguing about dead British authors."

"James Joyce was Irish."

"I stand corrected."

Malcolm patted the bed next to him. "Come sit with me," he said, all teasing gone from his voice. Trip crossed the room and sat down beside him.

"What is it?"

Malcolm didn't say anything at first. He just looked at his lover—his bright blue eyes, his expressive and handsome face, his slightly self-conscious smile.

"What?" Trip repeated. He felt unusually bashful at Malcolm's intense scrutiny.

"Nothing," Malcolm said at last. "I'm just memorizing."

"Memorizing? You know what I look like, and if you forget I'll always be around to refresh your memory."

"But this moment will only last so long, and I want to remember it." Malcolm couldn't have explained why he felt that moment was so special, and he was glad Trip didn't ask. He only knew that he wanted to remember everything about that evening—from the cozy feeling of being snuggled up against his lover as they watched the game, to the way Trip's eyes had lit up when he learned Stephanie had brought chocolates to munch on. Even the absurd argument about literature held special significance somehow. In that moment, everything simply felt right.

Trip didn't understand, but he didn't argue. He just sat there and let Malcolm stare at him for as long as he needed to, and took that time to study his lover in return. _How did I get so lucky?_ he wondered, suddenly awestruck by the man seated next to him. There was tenderness on Malcolm's face that few people were ever privileged enough to witness, and here he was on the receiving end of it. He allowed himself to fall into the pale blue depths of Malcolm's eyes, content to stay there forever.

Malcolm's quiet voice broke the silence. "Thank you."

Trip didn't know what he was being thanked for, but felt it best not to ask. "Any time," he said softly, and he meant it.

* * *

"Tell me that wasn't fun," Stephanie challenged her lover with a grin. 

"Why would I do that?" replied Bonnie, her own smile just as wide. "It _was_ fun. Even your crazy argument about literature was fun, although I'm damned if I can figure out how you got on the subject in the middle of the game. Before, it would have made sense, but in the middle of the fourth inning it was just random."

Stephanie took Bonnie's hand in her own as they walked along the corridor. "It's amazing what topics come up at a ball game. I once discussed Shakespeare, witchcraft, and cooking at one Orcas game." Reaching the turbolift, they hailed it and waited a few moments for it to arrive.

"My brain hurts just imagining it," joked Bonnie.

The lift arrived then. Once they were inside and in no danger of interruption, Bonnie went on. "Of course, any evening with you and chocolate in it is already well on its way to perfect."

Stephanie laughed and squeezed Bonnie's hand happily. "So, what else does it take to make an evening perfect?" she asked playfully.

They stepped out of the lift and continued on their way to Stephanie's cabin.

"Liz is out tonight, right?" Bonnie answered with another question.

"Spending the night with her man, yes."

"I'm imagining the birthday presents I gave you." Bonnie smiled salaciously, and Stephanie grinned back with equal licentiousness.

"I know right where they are."

"Then I'll be able to show you exactly what makes a perfect evening."

Stephanie felt a thrill of excitement and anticipation zing through her, followed by a familiar tingling. She turned shining, lustful eyes on her lover. "Ooo, I can't wait."

They picked up their pace.

* * *

Ian returned alone to his cabin. Phlox was keeping Ari in sickbay overnight—ostensibly for observation. Ian was sure that was only a small part of the reason. As soon as Phlox had learned what had happened, he'd ordered Ian from sickbay. Ian didn't have to be a student of Denobulan behavior to recognize the anger in Phlox's eyes and the unspoken threat in his voice. _Leave now, or I'll have you removed by members of your own department._

He knew it wouldn't do him any good to object, so Ian had left without saying a word.

He entered the cabin. Everything was as they'd left it, of course. The damp and bloody cloth he'd fetched still sat on Ari's bunk, leaving a wet spot on the blanket. Ian picked it up and tossed it into the laundry. Next, he cleaned up the detritus of the first-aid kit. Both hypos still contained at least a single dose of medication, so he put them back in the kit and returned it to the lav. Coming out of the lav, he stopped at Ari's bunk again. He hadn't noticed the blood that was splattered on its surface until now. There wasn't a lot, but the sight still made his stomach turn. It wasn't the blood itself that caused him to feel sick. It was the fact that it was his best friend's blood, and Ian had been the one to spill it.

With rising bile at what he had done, Ian stripped the blanket and sheets from the bed. He pulled the pillow from its case, too, even though it was free of any stains. Then he shoved the lot down the laundry chute. He stared blankly for a moment at the bare mattress and pillow.

Abruptly, he left the cabin and went to the ship's stores for clean bedding. Returning once more, he proceeded to make up Ari's bunk with military precision.

When that was done, Ian stood in the middle of the room, looking for something more to do. He spotted the boots he'd carelessly chucked into one corner, as was his habit. He picked them up and put them away in his locker. Next he hung up the coveralls that he'd left piled on his bunk. The other pieces of his uniform lying around got thrown into the laundry.

Again he stood there seeking something to do, something that he could focus on so he could keep moving, keep from thinking. There was nothing.

His roving gaze landed on the blinking light on the computer, and he froze. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder why he had waited so long to open the message from Brady. What held him back? The worst had already happened, so what was he afraid of learning by listening to whatever his brother had to say? And if he had no intention of ever opening it, why hadn't he just deleted it days ago?

He had no answer for any of his questions.

Ian stood still, staring as if mesmerized by the blinking light. Several minutes passed before he shook himself from his reverie. Instead of going directly to the desk, however, he went to his locker. Reaching inside, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Then he went the lav and grabbed a glass. He opened the bottle and poured out a healthy measure of liquor. He drank it in one swallow and promptly refilled the glass. Setting the bottle aside but still open on the desk, he took the glass with him as he sat down in front of the computer.

Ian took a deep breath, enjoying the sensation as the liquor warmed him from the inside out. He took a smaller swallow this time and opened the communiqué.

Not surprisingly, it was a video letter. He was surprised, though, to see there were attachments, but he figured they could wait until he'd viewed the main message. Ian hit play, and it began.

"Hey," said the image on the screen.

Ian snorted derisively. Brady had never been particularly eloquent.

The recording went on.

"I met with the guy handling Mom's will. We read it today. Annie was there."

Annie was their mother's sister. Ian wasn't surprised. It was no secret that Annie had always been jealous of the match her sister Grace had made with Leland Young. She was undoubtedly there to find out if she'd inherited a stake in the ranch she so coveted.

"She went away plenty pissed off," Brady continued, as if he knew what Ian was thinking.

Ian found himself unconsciously mimicking his brother's smirk. One thing they'd always agreed on—they didn't care for their aunt.

"Everything else was pretty much what you'd expect, I suppose. I'm attaching a copy of the will for you read when you have time. I don't know what kind of free time you get on that ship of yours."

Ian got the distinct impression from his tone that Brady suspected Ian got a lot more free time than he actually did. Brady had made no effort to learn what his brother did for Starfleet, and Ian hadn't ever bothered to try to explain. There was no point.

"There's something else. I didn't know about it until today, or I'd've said something a long time ago." Brady appeared to brace himself, almost as if he anticipated an angry reaction from Ian even at that distance. "Dad left letters for us, you and me. We were supposed to get them when we each turned eighteen, but for whatever reason Mom never told us. I keep telling myself that maybe she just forgot. I don't know. Seems like a weird thing to just forget, eh?" He shrugged. "I don't know. It's not as if she wrote them. Anyway, I've attached yours to this message. I hope it helps. For what it's worth, little brother…" Brady paused and consciously corrected himself. "…Ian, I miss you. I know we're not friends, but whatever happens we're still family. I hope you're doing well, and if you get back to Earth sometime, come see me. Okay. Bye."

The video ended and Ian continued to stare at the blank screen. _Dad left me a letter? Brady misses me?_ It was almost too much for his mind to absorb. He took another swig of whiskey.

Ian looked at the short list of attachments. One was labeled simply "will". The other was more elaborately titled with the date of his tenth birthday. The thought of hearing his father's voice for the first time in over fifteen years set Ian's heart racing, but whether with excitement or dread, he couldn't decide. With a sense of trepidation, he opened the letter from his father. He was surprised to see it was typed, not a video or even audio recording. He was both relieved and disappointed. Forestalling both emotions with another drink, he began to read.

_Dear Son, _

Three years ago you came downstairs and declared your name was no longer Cody. From then on you were to be called Ian. I thought of that today as I watched you blow out the candles on your birthday cake. I still can't think why that moment made me think of the other. Maybe it has something to do with you growing up. I think I can see in you the man you're going to be. You and I may not always agree on what's best for you, but I realized when you were seven and you made your announcement in no uncertain terms, that you were your own man even then. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm proud of what I see in you today, just like I was proud of you then. I look forward to knowing the man you'll have become by the time you get this letter.

I love you, Ian.

It was signed simply, _Dad_.

Ian sat there for a long time. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he read words he'd never in his life thought he'd read. _He was proud of me,_ he thought in astonishment. _He was proud of me? He was proud of me._

_And Mom never said a word._

The sudden upsurge of love he felt turned suddenly to bitter disappointment. Too choked with emotion even to curse, and too confused to know whom he wanted to damn, Ian sat there and stared at the letter from his father. _He was proud of me then, and now look at me._ He thought about his actions that evening against the man who was supposed to be his best friend. He thought about how poorly he'd treated both Michael and Hoshi before that. _What's there to be proud of now?_

A flurry of emotions twisted his gut. Love, hate, anger, joy, disgust—all of them churned together inside him until he thought he'd be sick. Instead he grabbed his empty whiskey glass and hurled it at the cabin door. The glass shattered on impact, scattering shards like shrapnel. He laid his head on his arms on the desk and sobbed until there was nothing left inside him. At last, exhaustion won out over sorrow, and he fell asleep.

* * *

_She stood on the sidewalk staring up into the clear gray sky. A white sun shone down and she raised a hand to shield her eyes from its light. Someone rushing past jostled her shoulder and dislodged her shading hand. She squinted and quickly shaded her eyes again. _

A mottled gray flying saucer moved in and eclipsed the sun, looking like a giant hubcap turned on its edge. As it spun in place, it made a low-pitched humming noise. She found the sound almost relaxing, and she continued to look up at the UFO curiously, pleased that it covered the sun so well. It really was awfully bright.

It's like one of those goofy B-movies of Mae's,_ she thought, amused._ It's even all black and white._ She looked harder, trying to spot the wires on the spinning saucer. _

Someone bumped into her again. What am I, invisible?_ she thought in irritation. She looked around, hoping to find whoever had run into her and yell at them to watch where they were going. It was then she realized that she was the only one standing still in a river of fleeing people. _

She frowned. The humming grew louder and was no longer a pleasant drone. Now the low rumbling reverberated painfully in her skull. She covered her ears. The UFO moved and revealed the bright white sun once more. She flinched, aching with the light and the noise. Someone screamed…

Stephanie frowned in her sleep. She woke reluctantly, keeping her eyes firmly closed and hoping she was wrong. Pain sliced through one side of her head and she winced. _Migraine,_ she thought. _Damn._ It had been years since she'd had one, but the sensation was one she would never forget. This one felt like it would be worse than any of its predecessors.

Another shot of pain followed the first, and she bit back a whimper as it spread through her head and down her neck. _No, no,_ she silently pleaded with herself. She buried her face in her pillow. Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes. She whimpered again.

Next to her in the narrow bunk, Bonnie roused slowly. "You okay?" she asked, her voice fuzzy with sleep.

Stephanie didn't pull her head out of her pillow as she grunted a negative reply. "Mm-mm."

Bonnie raised herself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?"

"Migraine," was Stephanie's muffled answer.

"You want Phlox?"

"No."

"Should I call Liz?"

"No." Another wave of intense pain crashed through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and started to cry.

Bonnie knew her partner had a high pain tolerance, so when she realized Stephanie was actually crying, it scared her. She tried to stay calm. "Hang on, sweetie," she said. She pushed back the covers and climbed carefully over Stephanie to get out of the bunk. She hurried to the lav for the first-aid kit. The light came on automatically as she entered. Stephanie whimpered in response and pressed her face harder into the pillow.

As quickly as she could, Bonnie found the hypo she sought and returned with it to the bed. Her stomach lurched anxiously when she saw that Stephanie had curled into a fetal position, every muscle tensed against the pain. "Hang on," Bonnie said again as she knelt by the bunk. She pressed the hypospray to Stephanie's neck and released a double dose of its analgesic into her system.

Several seconds ticked past in which neither woman moved. Then Stephanie relaxed enough to uncurl slightly. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering sigh.

"Okay?" Bonnie asked, still worried.

"Better." Stephanie opened her eyes a fraction of a centimeter. "Turn off the light?" Bonnie rose and quickly did so, plunging the room into darkness. Stephanie sighed again. "Thank you. More meds, please?"

Bonnie's eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by the stars that streaked by outside the small port. She squinted at the ampoule on the end of the hypo. There was one dose of painkiller left. Again she pressed it to Stephanie's neck and released the drug. "We'll have to call sickbay if you need more."

"No. I'll be okay now as long as it doesn't come back."

"Are you sure?" Bonnie had never before seen anyone taken out that quickly and completely by anything short of a phase-pistol shot. She was still freaked out. Her hands shook.

"Yeah. Come back to bed." Stephanie scooted over so there was room for Bonnie to join her again. She yawned and patted the bed. "Come on."

Bonnie was still uncertain, but she could see the exhaustion on Stephanie's face even in the heavy darkness. There was no point trying to talk about what had just happened or why. "Okay." She set the empty hypo on the shelf above the bunk, and then slipped in next to her lover. Immediately Stephanie snuggled up to her.

"My hero," she murmured, already half-way back to sleep. "Love you."

Bonnie smiled as a sudden surge of warmth filled her. It was the first time either of them had said those words, and she echoed them readily in a soft, happy voice. "Love you, too. Sleep well."

"Mmm," Stephanie mumbled, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

Archer took a sip of his coffee and scowled at the report on his computer screen. Phlox had sent it late last night, and it was the first thing the Captain had opened this morning. It wasn't the way he liked to start his day. 

The ready room door chimed and he looked up. "Come," he called, more sharply than absolutely necessary.

Doctor Douglas entered, datapad in hand. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, no," Archer assured him, setting aside the mug he held. "In fact, I was going to contact you. Have a seat." Douglas sat down across the desk from him. "I've been reading Phlox's report on last night's incident with Ensigns Young and Cohn."

"Ah." Douglas nodded. He'd received a copy of the report also. "That's why I'm here." He indicated the datapad and set it on the desk.

"So I guessed."

"I'm curious, Captain, about how you plan to proceed on this matter."

Archer paused before answering. It was obvious there was something Douglas wasn't saying, and he wanted to know what it was. _If this falls under doctor-patient confidentiality, I'm not going to be happy,_ he thought. "What don't I know about this?"

"I'm sorry?"

"There's more to this than I know," Archer stated bluntly. "From all prior reports, and from what I've heard generally, these men are good friends. What could possibly have provoked Young to attack Cohn? Barely two months ago he was saving Cohn's life." He found himself almost wishing some alien mind-control device or drug could be blamed. That was something he knew how to deal with.

Douglas knew now what information Archer was missing. Still, he phrased his thought as a question, in case he was mistaken. "Are you aware that Ensign Young's mother passed away recently?"

"No. I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not sure how that has any bearing on the situation."

Douglas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. Archer thought it odd, but made no objection. "From what I've been told, her death was quite sudden and should have been preventable," the psychiatrist said. "The unexpected and futile death of a loved one when you are literally light years away and incapable of doing anything about it is extremely stressful. It can even be overwhelming for some people."

"You'll forgive me if this sounds callous, Doctor, but even if he were home instead of here, there wouldn't be anything he could do about it now."

"And wouldn't that frustrate you, if you were in that position? Helpless, perhaps feeling guilty, and left wondering if you couldn't have done something if only you _had_ been there?"

Archer sat back in his chair. Having witnessed his own father's slow decline into death, he was familiar with the feeling of helplessness Douglas described. "All right. I see your point. Now explain to me what this has to do with the problem I have here." He gestured at the report still on his computer screen.

"Ian and Ari are very good friends," Douglas replied, deliberately using the ensigns' first names. He hoped it would make Archer feel more connected to them on a personal level, rather than just as a commanding officer. "You know the old saying, 'You always hurt the one you love'?"

Archer was momentarily confused. "Yes. Why? Are you saying they're in love?"

"No. I'm saying that, of everyone on this ship, Ian is closest to Ari. If you check the crew assignment records, you'll see they actually requested to be roomed together on this mission. I propose that when Ian was unable to face the loss of his mother and his own inability to affect any change in the situation back on Earth, he simply lashed out at the nearest target, both emotionally and physically."

"So you're saying Cohn was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Partly that. I don't expect Ari was entirely without blame in the incident, although without speaking to both men I can't support that with any facts. It's simply my experience with similar situations that the triggering event—the straw that breaks the camel's back—usually comes from an external source," he explained.

Archer sighed. "The incident," he echoed wearily. "I'm tired of that word coming up in conjunction with one of my officers." He paused, thinking. Douglas waited patiently for him to go on. Eventually, he did. "All right. Before I throw one or both of them into the brig, I'd like to hear what _you_ suggest I do."

Douglas was prepared for this moment. "I suggest you allow both men to continue their duties." When he saw Archer was about to protest, he held up a hand. "Hear me out, please. I received a request from Ian for a counseling session as soon as possible. Unless you say otherwise, that session will take place shortly after I leave here. I've already cleared it with Lieutenant Reed. I also intend to speak with Ari, both independently and with Ian. Now, assuming that Ian is willing to work with me on a regular basis, and assuming that he and Ari are able to work out their current differences, I see no reason to remove anyone from duty. In fact, in the case of Ensign Young," he went on, this time deliberately switching back to the armory ensign's rank, "it would be more harmful than helpful."

Archer nodded, if reluctantly. "I think I see what you're getting at. If I lock him up, or even if I just suspend him _again_…" He made a point of emphasizing the repeat nature of the situation. "…it will only make him feel more helpless and frustrated, leading to a greater likelihood of more 'incidents'."

"Precisely."

Archer scrubbed his palms over his face in an expression of his own frustration. "I'll be honest with you, Doctor, if we were anywhere near home, I'd turn this ship around and drop Young off at the first friendly outpost. However, since that's not an option, I'll defer to your judgment on this. But not forever. I want regular progress reports, and I don't want to see even a hint of another 'incident' involving Ensign Young, or he will be headed straight to the brig. Understood?"

"Absolutely. And I'll make sure he's aware of your position on the matter." Douglas picked up his datapad and stood, sensing the end of the meeting.

"Thank you."

At that moment, Sato's voice came over the comm. She sounded unusually tense. "Bridge to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead." Archer nodded to Douglas, and the psychiatrist took it as the dismissal it was. Archer spoke to Sato again as Douglas departed. "What is it, Ensign?"

"Admiral Forrest for you, sir. Highest priority transmission."

"Put it through."

* * *

Cormack entered the armory, surprised to see Lieutenant Reed there. "Morning, sir," she said, descending the stairs from the upper level. She briefly considered trying to hide the latté she carried, then gave it up as a lost cause. "I thought you were on the bridge today." 

"Sorry to see me again so soon?" joked Reed. He was in a particularly good mood that morning for no reason he could explain.

"No, sir, just surprised. I figured I'd be staring at Young's ugly mug all morning," Cormack wisecracked in reply. She sipped her latté.

Despite his next words, Reed's mood remained pleasant. "There was a last minute schedule change." He didn't go on to explain why.

For her part, Cormack wasn't particularly curious about it. She shrugged. "Oh." She yawned suddenly, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Excuse me."

"The late night get to you?" It had been past midnight when their small gathering had finally broken up the night before.

"That and the early morning migraine." When Reed frowned in concern, Cormack waved it off. "I'm fine. The first-aid kits are packed with good drugs." She yawned again, and then smiled in self-deprecation. "Just tired. Phase cannons this morning, correct?"

"Correct. Let's start with the aft cannon." They moved to the main control console and began their diagnostic.

* * *

Phlox set down the hand-held medical scanner. He smiled encouragingly at Ari, who sat facing him on a biobed. "It will take a few days for the bruises to fade, but the swelling around your eye has already gone down a great deal. How did you sleep?" 

"Okay," Ari answered unenthusiastically. He would have preferred his own bed, but in the circumstances he understood why Phlox had kept him here overnight. "So I can work my regular shift?"

"I don't see why not." In fact, Phlox was happy to have Ari where he could keep an eye on him. As long as Ari remained in sickbay, Phlox didn't have to worry that he might run into his volatile bunkmate.

Ari looked down at the hospital pajamas he wore. "I think I'll shower and get dressed before getting to work," he said a little ironically.

"Use the shower in the decon chamber," suggested Phlox quickly. Normally it was reserved for people who needed to wash off decon gel or alien muck, but he felt there was sufficient reason to make an exception this time.

"I need a clean uniform," Ari pointed out. He appreciated his C.O.'s suggestion; he wasn't particularly eager to face Ian this morning. He didn't know what might happen, but he was still angry and suspected Ian was, too. He figured a meeting now wouldn't be pleasant for either of them.

Phlox thought hard and was struck with an idea. "Ah! I'll contact Liz. She's due in shortly. She could stop by your cabin and pick up what you need."

Ari hesitated, but finally nodded. Liz was a friend. It was okay to ask a friend for a favor—even a somewhat personal favor like this. _I'll buy her a thank you drink sometime,_ he thought.

"You go shower," suggested Phlox. "I'll speak with Liz."

Phlox was as good as his word. By the time Ari was showered and dry, there was a full set of clean clothes waiting for him in the adjacent dressing room. He dressed and emerged from the decon area. Something in the air caught his attention and he sniffed experimentally. "Is that coffee?" he asked, coming into the sickbay's central area.

"It is," Liz said with a smile. She offered him a cup. "There's cream and sugar."

"Thanks." Ari helped himself to sugar, joking, "I could get used to mornings like this. Coffee delivered, pleasant company…" He looked around. "Where's Phlox?"

Now Liz frowned a little. "Staff meeting. Captain Archer hailed all the command staff while you were in the shower."

"All the command staff?" echoed Ari in surprise. It wasn't every day Phlox's presence was required at a command staff meeting. "I wonder what's up."

* * *

Archer knew he would never forget that moment. He stepped onto the bridge, his face a stony mask. His entire senior staff was with him. They all knew what was going on, and they had all decided to stand with him while he made his announcement to the rest of the crew. 

Sato took her station from Donnelly, as Mayweather and Reed also relieved their backups. T'Pol went to the science station, but did not sit down. Phlox stood near the turbolift with Tucker beside him. Rather than taking his own seat, Archer stood in front of it. He looked over at Sato. "Hail all hands," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She nodded, and the three tones indicating an all-hands hail sounded throughout the ship.

"Attention, all crewmembers. I need your complete attention."

All around the ship, people stopped what they were doing to listen.

In the armory, Cormack paused in her diagnostic of the aft phase cannon targeting array. She flinched as a ghost of her migraine swept through her head and vanished abruptly.

Lawless looked up from monitoring the antimatter injectors on the main warp engine control console. She wondered idly how long it had been since she'd last heard the all-hands hail.

Fraser ceased her study of a new star map in Stellar Cartography, mildly annoyed at the distraction.

Young fell silent, frowning in confusion at Douglas over the desk in the psychiatrist's office. Douglas returned the frown with an equally perplexed expression.

Cohn set down his coffee cup on the sickbay counter and exchanged a concerned glance with Cutler. They both had the inexplicably unpleasant feeling that the hail had something to do with the command staff meeting.

Back on the bridge, Archer paused and steeled himself. Even having already made this announcement to his senior staff, he found the words difficult to say. He could barely believe they were true.

"There's been an attack on Earth. A probe of unknown origin fired an energy weapon that cut a four thousand kilometer swath through Florida, Cuba, and Venezuela." He paused again, partly to allow those listening to absorb this information, and partly to give himself a moment to collect his fraying emotions. "Casualties are currently estimated at over one million." Again he paused. He imagined he could hear the horrified and stunned reactions of the entire crew. "_Enterprise_ has been recalled. We're changing course immediately for Earth. I will update you all as more information becomes available. Archer out." He glanced at Sato, who promptly closed the comm.

Without a word, Archer placed a hand on Mayweather's shoulder. The helmsman looked up at him, and Archer gave the young man a small nod. Mayweather understood. He laid in the course to Earth and increased the ship's speed to Warp 5.

End Log 2:27  
_Completed 3 Dec 04 _

Continued in Log Rhythms: Season Three on


End file.
